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WINONA 


A STORY OP 
TO-DAY 



ELLA M. POWELL 


DEC 28 1891 


NEW YORK 

A. LOVELL & CO. 




I 


Copyright, 1891 

By ELLA M. POWELL. 


COMPOSITION AND ELECTROTTPINO 
BY THE E. B. SHELDON CO. 
NEW HAVEN, CONN. 






ffrPffiMi fc Jt II ’ SifUT-ffr 


PREFACE 


Many of the incidents which form the foundation 
of this story of to-day,” are true. The conversa- 
tions between General Sherman, General McPher- 
son, Dr. Shippen and Aunt Sallie,” are verbatim 
as they occurred in 1864, when the red hills of 
Georgia were dyed a deeper hue by the blood of 
war. 

Being a child of this later day, and having heard 
‘‘ war times ” talked around our Southern firesides 
since infancy — again having sojourned in the North 
— from two points of view, I have received my 
impressions. 


Ella M. Powell. 




WINONA. 


CHAPTER I. 

A LOW, dark “shanty,’' stood back a few feet from 

the country road that led to W . No expression 

of life, not even a faint flag of smoke waved from 
the chimney, to indicate to a passer-by that this 
humble, solitary abode was inhabited. 

A bitter night had set in. The tall trees about 
the “ shanty ”♦ rattled and shivered under a sheet of 
ice. Great gusts of wind, full of weird sounds, spent 
their passion. A belated horseman rode up to the 
gate and hallooed. Again and again he called out, 
but each time his voice was borne away on the wind. 
It was not until the discouraged man had disap- 
peared behind a hill, on his way, that a long-eared 
hound cautiously peeped his head from under the 
house, like a turtle from its shell, gave a few 
cowardly barks and drew back. Several minutes 
passed, when the door slowly opened and a faint, 
mellow light crept out. A lad about fifteen years 


6 


tVINONA. 


of age put his head out, and peered about in the 
darkness. An elderly man stood back of him hold- 
ing a tallow candle, the flame of which he en- 
deavored to protect with his hand, but a sudden 
gust of wind — it was out. 

The door closed again, and the two resumed their 
seats, along with an old woman, around a bed of 
glowing coals in the big fireplace. 

'' ’Taint likely it’s any of ’em ; they’ll have to be 
lyin’ low t’ night, I reckin. This spell ’ll about 
freeze ’em out, and I hope the last one er the plund- 
’rin’ things ’ll git frost bit so it ’ll last ’em for life,” 
remarked the woman in a tone of revengeful sat- 
isfaction, while vigorously stirring with a cob, a 
skillet of parching corn. 

“ Ole man, I think it’s purty nigh done, and the 
fire’s gittin’ low, so you’d better put on another 
turn o’ wood. Don’t git any o’ them chestnut 
sticks to have ’em a poppin about and burnin’ the 
tail o’ my coat agin. Put on a good, big turn o’ 
that hic’ry an’ oak, so it’ll last till mornin’. Things 
’ll have to warm up a bit, or this milk ’ll never turn, 
fur thar aint a sign o’ clabber yit.” 

At this she smoothed her hand down a brown 
stone jar on the hearth at her side, looked in, then 
re-tied the cloth over the mouth ; knocked the ashes 
out of her clay pipe and began to refill it. She 
made an interesting study in her checked home- 
spun dress, as she sat bent over, with her elbow rest- 
ing on her knee, smoking. The intervals between 


WINONA. 


7 


puffs were filled in with — I aintheered Muly-head 
low yit ; I jes’ know she haint come up ; likely as 
not, a parcel o’ them triflin’ gorillas ’ave made beef 
o’ her. That young heifer o’ hers ’as got the finest 
bag I ever seed on a three-year-ole in my life. She 
’ll give four t’ five gallons a day ef she keeps on. 
I b’liev^e ole Brindle ’s got the hollow-horn ; this 
cold spell ’s likely t’ give it to her. Ef she aint 
more spritely soon, you’d better be a borin’ a hole 
in her horn, and pourin’ in some spirits o’ turpentine. 
I forgot and took hold o’ that sore tit o’ hers, to- 
day, and she come nigh kickin’ me over. She’s the 
hardest cow to milk anyhow, I ever seed ; never 
would stand still — come home here last spring with 
her tail all matted full o’ cuckleburs, and switched 
it aroun’ in my face, till my eyes was mighty nigh 
put out. Law, Master George, yo’ taters are 
roastin’ t’ death here’n these ashes. I’d forgot all 
about ’em — By the way, Mr. Giddins, didye cover 
up the tater hill with them ole sacks ? Some of ’em’s 
frost-bit already. Ye didn’t put enough corn-stalks 
over ’em in the beginnin’. Jes’ listen at that wind 
and sleet slappin’ the side o’ the house ! It ’ll blow 
every chicken and turkey off’n the roost. The ice 
on their backs yistiddy mornin’ ’peard a quarter o’ 
inch thick, and that ole gobbler’s snout ’s froze stark 
stiff. Bein’ it’s so powerful cold, we’d better pile on 
a leetlemore kiver t’night. Bed kiver’s mighty nigh 
given out too. I’ve got that ‘‘log cabin” quilt 
’bout ready fur the frame, so I thought I’d tell Mary 


8 


WINONA. 


Ann Johnson and Lucindi Tilly, with two or three 
more o' them in the sittlement, to come over an’ 
we’d have a quiltin’ soon’s things kinder thaw out a 
bit. Well, I b’lieve I’ll pile in and git up soon in 
the mornin’, fur I want to finish knittin’ them blue 
yarn socks, and card and spin about ten hanks to’ards 
a counterpin.” 

These last words came with a thick tongue, for 
Mrs. Giddings had almost talked herself to sleep, and 
Mr. Giddings, and young George Hardeman, as well, 
who were both nodding. Her harmless volley of 
words never disturbed either their thoughts or slum- 
bers, for they were quite accustomed to them. Mr. 
Giddings said : “ She al’ays did have a way o’ talkin’ 
jes’ to be a talkin’.” 

The old woman had just finished putting her pipe 
away for the night, her last duty before pilin’ in,” 
when there came a sudden, heavy knock on the door. 
Mr. Giddings sprang to his feet, and reached for the 
gun that rested on pegs over the doorway. George 
Hardeman seized a six-shooter from a shelf with one 
hand ; the other on the door latch ; while Mrs. Gid- 
dings nervously re-lighted the tallow candle. 

There came another heavy knock, to which George 
called out : “ Who’s there ? ” 

“ A stranger, sir, that’s lost his way and purty 
nigh froze to death. I’d be mighty grateful ef you’d 
take me in fur the night, and jes’ let me lie on the 
flo’, if nowhars else.” 

Mr. Giddings, Mrs. Giddings and George debated 


WINONA. 


9 


the matter under their breath for some moments, 
while old Trip joined in with a suppressed growl 
from under the house. 

“ Come in, sir,” at last said George, boldly, open- 
ing the door, but all the while keeping his thumb on 
the cocked trigger of the pistol. 

There was an awkward silence and a scrutinizing 
glance from each at the entrance of the stranger. 
He was a tall, raw boned man, whose ragged Con- 
federate uniform, with an empty sleeve, war-worn 
knapsack and canteen, spoke eloquently of deeds of 
valor passed and suffering present, as he sat shiver- 
ing and chafing his numb hand before the fire. 
Some time passed without a word from either 
of the party, when Mr. Giddings suddenly leaned for- 
ward and peered closely into the man’s face. 

“ Bless my soul, ef it taint Billy Simpkins ! — hon- 
est Billy, as folks uster call ye.” 

‘‘Well, sho’s I’m livin’, it’s Jim Giddin’s !” 

Then followed a long, hearty hand-shaking, and 
various other expressions of recognition and greet- 
ing of an original style. Each took a fresh chaw ” 
of tobacco, and were soon punctuating their friendly 
conversation and reminiscences with spirts of 
tobacco juice. 

“Well, Jim, I know’d you was in this part o’ the 
country somewhar, but I never thought o’ cornin’ 
up on ye. I passed here about an hour ago, and 
hallooed, but no one ’peard to hear me, and as I 
seed no light about, ’lowed the house was empty. 


10 


tV/JVOJVA. 


I rid on a mile or two, when I heered horses’ hoofs 
a gallopin’ up behind ; so I turned into the woods 
a bit. As they passed on, I heerd two men a cussin” 
and a makin’ their threats ’bout puttin’ a bullet thro’ 
some un at sight. I knowed they ment me, fur I’d 
been a dodgin’ of ’em fur two or three hours. I’d 
been told thar was a band o’ guerillas ’bout 
through this sittlement, and ’lowed soon as I seed 
’em, they was a part of ’em. It was a stormin’ so, 
I thought I’d better turn back and come ’ere and 
git under shelter, anyhows till daylight, fur I didn’t 
know how many more of ’em I’d run over fore I 
could come across a place to stay all night. That’s 
how I lost my road — a tryin’ to git out o’ their way. 
I’m a findin’ my way to Nashville — tryin’ to git 
back to Georgi — Yes, Jim, I’m goin’ back to 
Georgi ; thar to live and die, I reckin. I knows 
you’re a Union man, Jim, but I tell ye, it’s pow’ful 
hard fur a man that’s got any grit in him, to set 
down and see the cause he knows is right, a suf’rin, 
and not be able to lend a helpin’ hand. I’m a git- 
tin’ too old to fight, anyways, they say, but I’d a 
never giv up till I died, ef I hadn’t er lost this arm. 
Ef I’d er had any say-so in it. I’d er stayed on and 
peppered the Yankees, with the one I had left, 
but I fired my last shot at Gettysburg.” 

‘‘Gettysburg!” interrupted George Hardeman; 
“ why, brother was wounded in that battle — I won- 
der if you could have known him.” 

“ And what mought yo’ name be ? ” 


tVINONA. 


II 


George Hardeman, sir ; the brother of Dan 
Hardeman, who was in Pickett’s Division under 
General Longstreet.” 

“You Dan Hardeman’s brother ! Why, bless ye. 
I’ve been all through the war with Dan Hardeman 
— him and me was messmates, and I love him same’s 
he was my own. Ye see, I was born and raised in 
the same sittlement as your paw and Aunt Sallie. 
Yo’ paw an’ me was friends long ’fore yo’ time. 
I rickolect'when you was born same’s twas yistiddy. 
Arter that, I moved up nigh Roswell, and when I 
come back, I found yo’ paw an’ maw both dead — 
yo’ brother Dan and little Sis er livin’ with yo’ Aunt 
Sallie, and they told me you was in Tinnessee with 
a friend o’ yo’ gran’paw’s. I al’ays did like Dan, 
and when we went t’ the war, we went t’gether, 
leavin’ your Aunt Sallie at the big gate, a wipin’ 
her eyes and sayin’ — ‘ Good-by’ Bill ; take care o’ 
yo’ sef, and look arter Dan. And I tried to do 
it ; but I had t’ give it up at Gettysburg.” 

Here Mr. Simpkins ceased — gave a long, loud 
spit-t-o-o-o — shook his head seriously, and then 
went on : 

“ Him and me both was wounded at that battle. 
Somehow,, we both had a feelin’ somethin’ was goin’ 
to happen, fur the night befo’, him and me was a 
settin’ in camp by ourselves — jes’ settin’ thar, sayin’ 
nothin’, but thinkin’ a powerful lot, when we heerd 
the rebel yell a soundin’ all along, up and down the 
line. They kep’ it up, purty nigh all night, and Dan 


12 


tVINO^A. 


an’ me sot thar a listenin’ and a talkin*. Nigh 
to’ards day, everything got still’s a meetin’ house — 
couldn’t see nothin’ but the picket guard a treadin’ 
soft’s a cat, up and down. Way in the East a little 
streak o’ light riz — made me think o’ a white tomb- 
stone in a graveyard on a dark night, and I got to 
feelin’ mighty lonesome — reck’n that was the feelin’. 
At last, Dan, he fell to sleepin’, po’ feller he was 
mighty chokin’ too, that night ; I could tell it by 
the way he swallowed. I never had no mo’ talk 
with ’im, fur the next day was nigh like Judgment 
day, sho’. Thar wasn’t no talkin’ with nobody sich 
times as them. Ye couldn’t hear a word but the 
commands o’ the officers, and the dyin’ a callin’ on 
the Lord. The rest had their teeth set and a doin’ 
their best. Sometimes the officers’ tongues clove 
to the roof o’ their mouths too, fur I remember that 
day when things was mighty hot — the bullets was a 
hissin’ an’ a peltin’ roun’ thick as rain — the cannons 
was a belchin’ like fury — the ground was a tremblin’, 
till it made yo’ head swim — two or three ammuni- 
tion wagons busted up, and the smoke come ’er 
rolling up like hell itself had turned loose — men was 
thick all ’round, a bleedin’ — cussin’ — prayin’ — 
groanin’ — and their eyes walled back a dyin’. ’Bout 
that time, Gen’al Longstreet rid up on his charger, 
and Pickett said: ‘Gen’al, shall I advance?’ and 
the Gen’al jest looked at him pow’ful solemn, and 
bowed his head — couldn’t say a word. Pickett led 
on and made a good fight too, even if he did have 


WINONA. 


13 


to give it up. Shortly arter that, I fell wounded. 
They picked me up and took me to the field 
hospital, and while I was a lyin’ thar, suff’rin’ 
mightly, I saw ’em puttin’ Dan in the ambulance. 
1 tried to crawl to him, but I couldn’t make it ; so I 
waved my hand, and the ambulance stopped in a 
few feet o’ me, jest long enough to say good-by. 
Ye know Dan’s a likely fellow — kaint none o’ ’em 
beat him on looks, but he looked mighty pitiful a 
lyin’ thar. * Good-by, Mr. Simpkins,’ he said, ^ ef 
you live and I don’t, tell ’em to kiss little Sis, and, 
think kindly o’ me, and remember all I’ve told ye.’ 
Then, they drove on, but I don’t know whar.” 

Here, the old man broke down and young 
George sobbed like a child. Mrs. Giddings brushed 
the tears away, and poked the fire, while Mr. Gid- 
dings got up with his hands in his pockets, in a 
meditative way, and went for a drink of water. 
For some time there was silence. At last, 
George Hardeman spoke : 

‘‘ Mr. Simpkins,” he said, will you do a favor 
for me ? ” 

Ef it’s in my power, son, I will.” 

Well, you know I’m living with the Colonel 

over at W , a rich man. I would go to the war 

myself, if the Colonel would let me — he says I’m 
too young, but I know how to level a gun if I am. 
The other day, four of these guerillas around here, 
fell on to the Colonel, and were about to shoot him, 
when his wife ran out and threw herself between 


WINONA, 


H 

him and the scoundrels. One of them threatened 
to shoot her too, if she didn’t leave, but she clung 
the closer about the Colonel’s neck — ‘the tears 
streaming down her pretty face — her long hair fall- 
ing in masses of golden curls, down her back. I 
could stand it no longer. There was no one at the 
house but me, and I felt in a moment that every- 
thing depended on my efforts. I had just returned 
from hunting, and my gun was loaded. I took 
good aim from behind a cedar tree — there were four 
against two, and one of the two unarmed you know. 
I put one load right through the temple of the man 
who was making his threats, killing him instantly ; 
the other load wounded another man, so that he 
died several hours after. The remaining two 
spurred their horses and run, firing back bullets 
and oaths as they went. Since that affair, sev- 
eral of their band have been seen scouting about 
here, and as it got out through the settlement that 
I did the shooting, the Colonel thinks they are 
after me, and insisted that I should come over here 
to Mr. Giddings’ for awhile, as he is a Union man, 
and I would be better protected, though they are 
generally no respecters of persons. I didn’t want 
to come — looked cowardly to me, but the Colonel 
still insisted, and made me. I would be dying in a 
good cause, if I died killing such villains. Both the 
Colonel and his wife have never ceased to talk of 
their gratefulness, though they think I was pretty 
daring, and the other day made me a present of a 


WINONA. 


15 


young filly of the famous Lightfoot breed, that 
he brought out from Kentucky. Now, Mr. Simp- 
kins, I want to send that filly to little sister, and I 
want you to take it to her.’’ 

In several days, after a pleasant sojourn with his 
old friend Mr. Giddings, Mr. Simpkins and Mett ” 
— the filly — set out for Georgia. 


CHAPTER 11. 


“ I TELL ye, MissSallie, she sets the saddle pow’ful 
well fur a youngster.’' 

‘‘Yes, Mr. Simpkins, Winona is an unusual child 
anyway. I don’t know what we would do without 
her sweet little face and cunning ways. She has 
been such a comfort to me since the men folk left. 
I am so glad George sent Mett to her — a finer 
horse I never saw, and well named, too, for she is 
mettle to the bone. Should any one steal her, 
they will have no trouble in finding her name from 
the mark I see you have given her ; but don’t you 
think you had better be off, Mr. Simpkins? The 
sun is getting very warm, and they may stop grind- 
ing soon.” 

Mr. Simpkins flung his sack of corn over his 
horse’s back, mounted, then started off, side by side 
with little Winona, towards Mason’s Mill. At the 
branch, they stopped to water the horses, when 
Mett, with a horse’s keen perception, suddenly raised 
her head with pricked ears, and began to shy. 

“Oh, Mr. Simpkins, see, it’s old Jake! he’ll catch 
us, oh — oh — oh ! ” exclaimed Winona in a frightened, 
childish undertone, ready to burst into tears. 


WINONA, 


17 


'' Don’t be afeered, Honey — he’ll not bother ye ; 
he’s nothin’ but a sneakin’ coward nohow — al’ways 
a skulkin’ about in these woods round here, or lyin’ 
drunk. A little, old, shriveled up Jew, with a gold 
ring in his ear, kaint mean much good to this hon- 
est sittlement. Don’t know what he come here fur 
anyhows ; been roun’ here sometime now and no- 
body knows no more ’bout him than when he first 
come — jes’ know he’s ole Jake, the rag-picker, with 
a peach of a daughter. Daughter ! umph ! don’t 
believe it neither. Well, he’d better never come a 
meddlin’ round me, fur I’ll do some work with this 
one arm here.” 

And so Mr. Simpkins went on, subduing his inward 
contempt with an outward volley of words, until 
the strange dwarf of a man had, for the time, passed 
out of sight — then out of mind. In the mean time. 
Aunt Sallie had busied herself with housework, 
and now sat on the front porch, leisurely stringing 
beans for dinner. It was the nineteenth of July, 
1864. All about there was such a lazy, hot expres- 
sion. The shimmering heat rose from the baking 
earth and sweltered every living thing. Not a sound 
was to be heard except an occasional stridulous note 
of the July fly, or lonely chirp of a grasshopper. 
Mr. Simpkins and Winona returned ere long, with 
the fresh ground meal. The child, exhausted from 
her jaunt, and the fright from old Jake, soon fell 
asleep on the big walnut bed. 

I fear she has overdone herself,” Aunt Sallie 


i8 


WINONA, 


murmured, as she bent over and kissed the little 
pale brow. 

Cindy, one of the blackest darkies that Africa 
ever produced, and one of the best-hearted, kept 
time to the ker-slush, ker-slosh, ker-slish” of her 
churn-dasher, with a weird and almost barbaric strain, 
from the shed. She hushed suddenly. Even the 
grasshopper and the July fly retired ; perhaps for 
their daily siesta. Indeed, all nature seemed to 
hold her breath for a time over that peaceful coun- 
try-home. The stillness became oppressive. Was 
it woman’s intuition or premonition, that made Aunt 
Sallie go quickly to the edge of the porch, and look 
out from behind the wilted morning-glory vines with 
a feeling of — something is going to happen!” 
All that was to be seen was a lone buzzard, careening 
along the blue horizon, as stately and still as a ship 
at sea. Aunt Sallie stood gazing vacantly, her 
thoughts far away with her loved ones from whom 
she was separated by the bloody hand of war, when 
a mounted courier dashed up to the gate — waved 
his hand and shouted : “ The Yankees are coming ! ” 
— turned and was gone. Like an alarm of fire to a 
sound sleeper at midnight, came that cry to Aunt 
Sallie. She stood for a moment stunned, feeling as 
if the man had struck her with a club upon the 
head. Only for a moment she stood, then, rallying 
all her reserve force, hastened to reach a large horn 
and blow several vigorous blasts. Of all the darkies 
on the plantation, Cindy was the trustworthy one. 






WINONA. 


19 


With her assistance Aunt Sallie gathered a few valu- 
ables and provisions, and proceeded to hide them in 
the “dungeon.” This “dungeon,” as Aunt Sallie 
termed it, was merely the space between the flat 
ceiling and slanting roof of the front piazza. It was 
used as a storage place for broken furniture, old 
clothes and such things as “might come in some 
day.” She filled in the “ shuttle hole” as well as 
possible, to keep it from being detected, and hastened 
down-stairs just in time to see the Yankees advanc- 
ing through the orchard. The horn blasts had 
brought the darkies from the field, and at the sight 
of the army, they took to their cabins in great con- 
fusion. In less than five minutes, the yard was 
crowded with soldiers, and the house was taken 
possession of by General Sherman and his entire 
staff as his headquarters. 

The Confederates, in the mean time, had advanced 
to meet the foe, and skirmishing immediately com- 
menced. Aunt Sallie took Winona in her arms — 
the child having waked with a high fever — and sat 
down near General Sherman on the back shed. 
Cindy followed and crouched at the side of her mis- 
tress, half crazed with fear. The General and his 
men viewed the group with curiosity, but not a word 
was exchanged, until when Winona asked for water. 
Aunt Sallie went to the pail, which sat on a shelf 
just outside the shed, and as she was in the act of 
lifting the gourd to the little parched lips, a bullet 
whizzed by, severing it from its handle. 


20 


WINONA. 


‘‘ Pretty close clipping, eh ? indifferently re- 
marked General Sherman. 

Rather, ” Aunt Sallie replied, with assumed 
calmness, resuming her seat. 

Don’t you think you had better get inside your 
shanty? ’’ 

At the word shanty, Aunt Sallie's cavalier blood 
began to boil, but having always been taught there 
was one thing a lady was bound to keep — her tem- 
per — she gave a big swallow and replied carelessly. 
Oh, no ; if you are safe here, I reckon we will be 
also, ” with emphasis on the you. 

Where is your husband? he went on. 

Here, Aunt Sallie hesitated, looking him straight 
in the eye ; then in a most deliberate manner said : 
^‘He is from home to-day, like you, sir. ’’ 

This repartee brought a significant smile all around, 
while General Sherman picked up a newspaper and 
began reading. General McPherson, who had 
been a silent spectator of what had passed, walked 
over, and taking Winona’s hand caressingly in his, 
said, “The little one dosn’t seem to be quite well.” 

His tone, his manner, shot a bolt into Aunt Sallie’s 
breast, and though it came from the enemy, it was 
not one of antagonism, but one that brought the tears 
to her eyes, for she felt that he was a gentleman, 

“ Yes, I fear she is going to be ill, having been 
exposed to the sun so much to-day, and then she 
has such a nervous temperament and easily excited, ” 
Aunt Sallie replied in a friendly tone. 




WINONA. 


21 


The child, hearing herself discussed, looked 
wonderingly at the strangers a moment, then pro- 
ceeded to an informal introduction. 

‘‘ My name is Winona, but Banni calls me “ Noni ’’ 
for short. A Yankee lady named me — a good Yan- 
kee — not one who fights. Did you ever see a Yan- 
kee?’' she innocently prattled. 

Oh, yes, ” was General McPherson’s good na- 
tured answer. 

‘‘A fighting one?” 

‘^Yes.” 

‘‘And didn’t you run?” 

“ No. ” 

Winona regarded him curiously with wide opened 
eyes. Meditating a moment she went on : “ My 
Sunday-school book says, God made you and me. 
Aunt Sallie, and all good people ; but I don’t know 
who made fighting Yankees. I reckon Mr. Lincoln 
and the bad man did it, don’t you ? ” 

General McPherson laughed heartily and lifted 
Winona to his knee, when, to the merriment of the 
whole party, she began singing in a sweet childish 
voice : 


“ Jeff Davis is a clever man — 

Old Lincoln is a fool — 

Jeff Davis rides a milk-white horse — 

Old Lincoln rides a mule. 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for the bonnie blue flag ; 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for the bonnie blue flag, 

That bears a single star. ” 


22 


WINONA. 


At the end, there was a burst of applause, to 
which Winona shyly hung her head, while toying 
with the brass buttons on the General^s coat, and 
said — “ I always charge Uncle John a nickel when I 
sing. ” 

“And who is Uncle John?'’ he replied. 

“Why, he's Aunt Sallie's John, and my uncle; 
but they come and took him and brother Dan away 
off to the war, and left us all by ourselves. Aunt 
Sallie cries and cries, but they won't come back, and 
I don’t have nobody to give me nickels to buy 
stick candy with now.” 

Here Winona rested her little tired head against 
the General’s breast. He nestled her closely — took 
a silver quarter from his pocket, and placed it in her 
hand — leaned over and kissed her. By this time, 
the bullets had begun to whiz on all sides. Thicker 
and faster they came, making the leaves of the mas- 
sive oaks round the house to fall in great numbers. 
All conversation ceased, and desperate work com- 
menced. General Thomas' Artillery had advanced 
and was pouring shot and shell into the ranks of the 
Confederates, that caused them to begin to give 
way. The sky, so serene and blue but a short 
while before, was now covered by a boiling cloud of 
sullen gray. General Sherman wore an anxious 
expression, and was heard to say, “If they give way 
here. I’m satisfied.” But a little while, and his hopes 
were realized. It often takes but a moment for des- 
perate men to do the work of years. The Confeder- 


TrrfrTirrrrrin ti t r 


WINONA. 


^3 


ates were compelled to fall back after the heaviest 
fighting, since leaving Kennesaw Mountain, They 
had lost the battle of Peachtree Creek. Things 
became more quiet. The thick veil of smoke was 
slowly lifted from the faces of the bloody dead and 
dying, revealing a most pitiful spectacle. Every- 
where was such a naked, forlorn expression. Trees 
were stripped of their limbs and foliage ; fences down, 
and grass, flowers and herbs trampled to the earth. 
As many of the wounded as could be accommodated, 
were placed upon the floor of the front piazza, 
these quarters being at the same time used by Dr. 
Shippen, surgeon of Haskell’s division. Twenty-third 
Corps, for the purpose of a hospital. The genial 
doctor approached Aunt Sallie most courteously, 
and asked if she would be kind enough to give him 
some old cloths for bandages ; their supply having 
run short. 

“Certainly, sir,” was her prompt reply, and she 
proceeded to gather every thing in her possession 
that could be utilized for that purpose and gave to 
him. Even some of her new sheets and table-linen 
were torn into strips to alleviate suffering ; the din- 
ing table itself being used for the surgeon’s operat- 
ing table. 

Winona’s fever rose higher and higher under the 
excitement and thundering noise, and when, at last, 
Aunt Sallie had to explain to her that it was the 
Yankees and the war, she clung pitifully first to her, 
then to Cindy, trembling like a little, innocent 


24 


WINONA, 


hunted animal. Her nausea soon became so great 
that she had to give up, and take to her bed. 

Why, what is the matter, little one?’' said Dr. 
Shippen, seeing her lying there so still. 

Oh, sir, the big guns hurt me here,” she an- 
swered, placing both her hands to her throat. 

Ah, there are many strong men out there in 
front, whose hearts are in their mouths too,” seri- 
ously replied the doctor, sitting down on the side of 
the bed, and feeling her pulse. In a moment he 
turned to Aunt Sallie saying, Madame, you have 
here a very sick child. While I am here. I’m at 
your service, and will do all I can for her.” 

Before Aunt Sallie had time to express her grati- 
tude, a soldier stepped up to the back door and 
called her hurriedly : Madame,” he said, ‘‘ the men 
are tearing down your barn and out-houses. I think 
a word from you to General Sherman would save 
them — ” tipped his cap and was gone. 

She hesitated a moment, not liking to approach 
the General, then walked to the front piazza, where 
he was sitting with his hands in his pockets, legs 
crossed, and with a morose expression, was abstractly 
inspecting the toe of his carpet-bag slipper, a pair 
of which he wore at the time. 

Aunt Sallie cleared her throat to steady her voice 
and said : General Sherman, I see your men are 
tearing down my barn and out-houses ; it is little to 
them, but much to me and my family. Won’t you 
be good enough to have it stopped? ” 


WINONA, 


25 


Without once changing his expression, or raising 
his eyes from the toe of his slipper, he answered ab- 
ruptly — Madame, I have too large a family to look 
after to-day, to bother with yours/' 

General McPherson was sitting by, reading a pa- 
per, which he dropped upon the floor, and rising, 
said, in a reproachful tone — ‘‘Tut — tut — tut — Gen- 
eral, we are in this lady's house, and she has done 
all she could to relieve the sufTerings of our 
men." 

General McPherson then walked to the edge of 
the porch, and in a loud voice called out : “ Come 

to the front like white men; not like dogs! For- 
ward — march ! " and ordered every man outside the 
yard. 

“ God bless you ! " were all the words Aunt Sallie 
could find to say, as she turned into the house, leav- 
ing General Sherman whittling a stick with his 
pocket-knife, without having replied a word to Gen- 
eral McPherson or his command. 

As the day wore on, General Sherman gave the 
order, “Go ahead ! tear up every railroad, and pull 
down every telegraph pole in your reach ! " Strictly 
to the command his army took up, slowly but surely, 
its ever memorable devastating march. The 
wounded were expeditiously removed, leaving 
behind a melange of amputated limbs, which were 
gathered up and unceremoniously pitched into a 
gully, without even a show of interment. 

“ Much depends on good nursing, whether you 


26 


WINONA. 


will save her or not ; more in that than in the medi- 
cine in cases of fever, you know,’' said Dr. Shippen, 
as he gave Aunt Sallie his hand in a sympathetic 
good-by. She followed him to the door, and 
looked riter him through her tears. 

Let me see too, Aunt Sallie — please, ma’am, let 
me see,” came a weak, childish voice to her. 

Yes, my darling, you shall see ; for he is a good 
man, and has done all he could — he has left some 
medicine to make you well.” 

Aunt Sallie lifted Winona’s light form in her 
arms and walked to the open door-way. Dr. Ship- 
pen was just disappearing at the top of the hill. It 
was not at him the child eagerly gazed, but at 
two mounted soldiers who were at that moment 
passing the gate ; one of whom was leading an un- 
saddled horse by a rope about its neck. 

“ Mett ! Mett ! come back, Mett ! Oh, Aunt 
Sallie, they are taking my Mett,” cried Winona, 
with all her feeble strength, as if her little heart 
were breaking at the sight. Mett seemed to hear 
the childish pleadings and understand, for she 
turned her head — the thin nostrils quivering — looked 
back longingly, and gave a piteous neigh. 

‘‘ Can’t Dr. Shippen, or the good man who 
gave me the money, bring her back. Aunt Sallie ? 
Let Cindy run and tell them, please, ma’am ! ” 

‘‘ Yes, run, Cindy, and try to overtake the doctor ; 
tell him it is all I ask; just to have Mett sent back. 
Tell him she’s Winona’s pet — run ! ” commanded 






WINONA. 


27 


Aunt Sallie, excitedly ; but the frightened negro 
only crouched closer in the corner, calling on the 
Lord in frenzied mutterings. Aunt Sallie impa- 
tiently put Winona on the bed, and started in a 
bold run towards the men, shouting for them to 
Stop, stop ! as she went. They realized the 
situation at a glance, and in order to save them- 
selves the bother of a scene, laughingly quickened 
their pace, and were soon out of sight. Out of 
breath. Aunt Sallie sat down on a log by the road- 
side and wept bitterly. Only for a moment did she 
give way to her feelings, for a pang of anxiety and 
a touch of bitterness choked back her words, and 
crisped the tear on her cheek into a deeper and 
more eloquent sorrow, expressed only by the lines 
of her face and heavy heart throbs. This last ex- 
citement quickened Winona’s fever into a wild 
delirium. Frequently she would caress the pillow, 
and talk to her pet as if stroking Mett’s glossy 
mane. About sundown a detachment of stragglers 
from the rear of the army came up boldly, walked 
in without a word, and commenced ransacking the 
house. They appropriated everything they could 
conveniently take away with them, without the 
slightest compunction of conscience. Aunt Sallie 
knew she w'as powerless to prevent them, and made 
no effort in that direction until two of them, more 
insolent than the others, sat down in the room 
where she was nursing Winona and began tantaliz- 
ing her with disagreeable talk. 


28 


WINON’A, 


“ Got anything to eat here?** peremptorily spoke 
out one, with a regular down-eastern twang, rolling 
his ‘‘r** like a sweet morsel under his tongue, with 
which he was loth to part. 

There’s nothing for you,** was the evasive 
answer. 

A harsh expression and tone was the man’s as he 
said; '‘Ah, there isn’t; well, of course, we take 
your word for it, but we will just look about to 
make sure ; ” at which he and his companion began 
upsetting everything in the room. A wooden box, 
used for holding chips and light wood, had been 
hurriedly upturned to conceal part of a boiled ham at 
the side of the fireplace. A kick from one of them 
knocked it aside, leaving the ham exposed. He 
picked it up with a spiteful, " Umph, humph ! ” and 
held it before Aunt Sallie. She had been fanning 
Winona, seemingly indifferent to their doings. 
She stopped, looked straight at the man, saying, 
" When I said there was nothing here for you I 
meant it. That is my meat, and when you eat it, I 
want you to have the consolation of knowing that 
you are swallowing the very life’s blood of me and 
mine. Your army has, in this one day, swept from 
us the earnings of years. Our barns, fields and cup- 
boards are stripped of every vestige of food. That 
is the last morsel of meat that we have.” 

" Give her the d thing, and come on,” the 

second man spoke up, swearing at the very thought 
of his better nature having been touched by Aunt 


WINONA. 


29 


Sallie’s words. The first man dropped the ham, 
but leisurely took a seat, not satisfied with the 
thought of being gotten rid of so easily. He took 
a photograph from his pocket and placed it in Aunt 
Sallie’s lap, determined to draw her into a conver- 
sation. 

‘‘That’s my wife — what do you think of it?” he 
questioned. 

She looked at the likeness with curiosity, to see 
what style of unfortunate woman could have se- 
lected such a ruffian for a husband. 

“All I have to say is, that if my husband is in her 
house to-day, as you are in mine, rest assured that 
she is being treated with respect.” 

He, in turn, took the picture and looked at it 
without a word. There must have been something 
in the expression, together with Aunt Sallie’s quiet 
reproach that touched him at last, for he got up 
and followed his companion out. 

So red was the twilight sky, that it seemed, like 
a mirror, to be reflecting the bloody earth. An 
angel from the throne bent down — caught the last 
long ray of the setting sun for a golden wand, and 
with it, lighted the evening star, — a taper over the 
bier of the slain, while the mists of the night gently 
draped themselves as their winding sheet. The 
moon rose clear, and shed a mellow, holy light. So 
balmy was the air — so serene was nature, that to 
many troubled hearts, it seemed almost a mockery. 
To the dead, it was a peaceful benediction. 


30 


WINONA. 


Though it made the house close and hot, Aunt 
Sallie had bolted and barred securely every door and 
window, except one small high window at the side 
of the chimney that looked out to the west. 

Uncle Sam and Cindy were palleted in the little 
room that opened into Aunt Sallie’s, as an apology 
for protection. The former was snoring away vocif- 
erously, and judging from the occasional grimaces of 
his black countenance, he must have been in his 
dreams, riding the promised mule over the forty 
acres of ground, with which the Yankees had 
tickled his credulity, if he would go with them. He 
whispered it as an inducement to Cindy just before 
going to sleep, but he soon found it would take a 
stronger attachment for him, and something more 
than an enticing promise to get her to desert her 
mistress. 

No, sah, I ain’t lubin* you so pow’ful hard no- 
hows, and I ain’t gwine speculatin’ roun’ dis country 
’dout I knowed fur sartin whar I wus gwine t’ Ian’. 
Missus been good to me, and I ain’t gwine t’ forsook 
her now, an’ ef I’s freed, I’ll jes’ stay right hiah long 
as Missus does. Lots o’ dem niggers dat’s done 
gone away ’ll come back fo’ long er wishin’ dey 
nebber had er went ; now, you see ef dey 
don’t.” 

Here Uncle Sam gave Cindy a nudge in the side, 
a signal to hush, as her tone of voice was rising 
perceptibly with the heat of the conversation, and 
he feared Aunt Sallie would hear them. Not that 


WINONA. 31 

she could prevent his going or would try, but in his 
heart he felt sheepish ” about it. 

The weary night hours dragged on, while Aunt 
Sallie faithfully kept watch at Winona’s bedside. 
There was nothing for her to do but think, hope, 
and pray. Now that everything was so still, she 
began to realize fully her situation — her loneliness 
and peril. To whom could she go for help? It 
was dangerous to try to get to the Major, who lived 
about a half mile from her on the road to Decatur 
— her nearest neighbor. Cut off from Atlanta and her 
father, who lived there, there was absolutely no help, 
unless Providence would interpose, — surrounded by 
the Federal army, without food, unprotected from 
the insults of wicked men. Five or six of the dark- 
ies had gone with the army, while the remaining ones 
were in a demoralized state. With these thoughts 
rushing in wild confusion through her brain, she 
began to pace restlessly between Winona and the 
window; the window and Winona. The dull light 
from the tallow candle threw sombre shadows about 
the bed of the little suffering form. As Aunt Sallie 
bent over eagerly to listen to her breathings that came 
so irregularly, her heart was filled with a terrible 
foreboding of death. The horrors of the day were 
for a time, lost in the anxiexty of the moment. She 
dropped on her knees at the side of the bed, clasped 
her hands and began praying aloud most fervently. 
Her voice waked Cindy, who, hearing her mistress 
calling on the Lord, was seized with a fresh fright. 


32 


WINONA, 


and began joining in the supplication, by spasmodi- 
cally repeating Aunt Sallie’s words. As Aunt Sallie 
would say, Oh, God, our heavenly Father,” Cindy 
would sing out, in a weird monotonous strain, with a 
sudden, Yes! Oh, G-o-o-o-d, our heavenly F-a-a-a- 
ther,” and then go on humming a barbaric-like ac- 
companiment to the end of the prayer. The amen 
had scarcely passed Aunt Sallie’s lips, and while she 
still knelt, there was a noise outside the open 
window, as if some one was climbing up. She rose 
and tipped stealthily to peep out. Just under- 
neath the window, a man was carefully prop- 
ping a plank against the house, to serve as a 
ladder. 

“Who’s there?” called out Aunt Sallie, with a 
steady voice. 

The man stopped his work, and looked up as if a 
bit startled. By the moonlight falling on his up- 
turned face, she recognized him to be one of the 
men who had been through the house plundering 
that day, and who evidently thought she was quite 
unprotected. He made no reply to her question, 
but continued to adjust the plank. 

What is your business here?” 

Again he made no answer. Aunt Sallie turned 
quickly, and seeing a hatchet lying on the hearth 
where Uncle Sam had been splitting light wood, she 
seized it. 

“You dastard! if you dare attempt to come 
through this window I will drive this hatchet into 


WINONA. 


33 


your brain ! I have stood enough and am now ready 
to defend myself, even to death ! 

The man stood still at her daring words, mutter- 
ing something about ‘'being spunky,'’ and feeling 
as if he had suddenly been plunged into a cold 
bath. As he was hesitating. Aunt Sallie called to 
Uncle Sam, saying, in a determined way, “Sam, 
bring me that loaded gun.” 

It was impossible for the man to hold on to a 
weapon and climb at the same time ; he realized the 
advantage of Aunt Sallie’s position, and hearing a 
man’s name called, and the shuffling of Uncle Sam’s 
and Cindy’s clumsy feet, he jumped the garden 
fence and was soon out of sight. 

“Oh, the torture of such suspense!” thought 
Aunt Sallie ; “ what if the demon should return and 
set fire to the house ! Oh, if Winona should die be- 
fore the day, I would not even have so much as a 
pine box to bury her in. Oh, God, have mercy — 
have mercy ! ” 

And so the night wore on. Never did Aunt Sal- 
lie listen so eagerly for the crowing of the chickens, 
or welcome so heartily the first ray of dawn. As 
soon as it was light, she sent Uncle Sam to pick 
up the scattered corn, dropped by the army, to 
grind for bread — it was her only resort. Several 
hours passed, and still Uncle Sam did not return. 
Aunt Sallie walked to the piazza to see if she could 
see him coming, just as a horseman dashed up to 
the gate. She could scarcely believe her own eyes 


34 


WINONA, 


as she recognized in him no less than the good Dr. 
Shippen. In her warm, impulsive, Southern 
way, she extended both hands to him, saying feel- 
ingly; “ Thank God ! ” 

The fervor in those two words, the sore distressed 
expression of her face, and her womanliness of man- 
ner, touched a sympathetic chord in the good man’s 
heart, causing the tears to rush to his eyes. 

‘‘Business brought me near here,” he said, “so I 
thought I would run down and see how my little 
patient is ; ” then he sat down and commenced feel- 
ing Winona’s pulse. “She is still very ill, but I 
think by following closely my instructions, you will 
save her. Give frequent baths of diluted brandy 
and soda, and this medicine. When she is strong 
enough to take nourishment, give her boiled milk 
and rice.” 

“ Oh, I thank you sincerely, doctor, and will follow 
as faithfully as I can, your directions; but I have 
no brandy or rice, and our last cow was driven away 
about daybreak this morning. I think they must 
have her penned somewhere just over the hill yon- 
der, for I’ve heard her lowing several times to- 
day.” 

The doctor poured some brandy from a canteen, 
saying: “I guess the quartermaster has your cow 
— I’ll call by and see, and leave orders for you to 
have milk and rice as long as he is stationed there. 
I wish, dear madame, it were in my power to do 
more for you, but — ” Here he extended his hand 


WINONA. 35 

to Aunt Sallie to say farewell — ‘‘such is the result 
of war/’ 

She took his hand cordially, gratefully, feeling 
that he was a man in truth serving the cause he 
believed to be right ; at the same time having a 
respect for the feelings of others, and a sympa- 
thetic heart for unprotected women and children. 

As he turned to the door, Winona having been 
awakened by their conversation, pleaded feebly, 
“ Bring her back ; please bring her back.” 

“ Her pet horse, Mett, was taken yesterday,” Aunt 
Sallie explained, “and in her delirium, she calls con- 
stantly for her.” 

Dr. Shippen hesitated a moment, gave a last 
glance at the little sufferer, the tears again dim- 
ming his eyes — tipped his hat and went out with- 
out a word. 


/ ^ 


CHAPTER III. 


It was the twenty-second of July, about sun- 
down, three days after the fighting about Aunt Sal- 
lie’s, that a courier stopped and asked her for a 
dipper of water. 

We have had a great loss to-day, ” he remarked 
sadly, shaking his head. Seeing that he was 
friendly inclined and somewhat distressed. Aunt 
Sallie replied, How is that ? ” 

General McPherson was killed to-day in the bat- 
tle of Atlanta.” 

'*0—0 — o — h, Oh ! a good man gone; he was 
surely a friend to me a few days ago, and I shall 
never cease to respect his name. How did it hap- 
pen ? ” 

The road to Blair’s Line had been clear, when 
he started full tilt to reach it. About a hundred 
yards run him short into the skirmishing line of Cle- 
burne, coming up through a gap. They called to 
him to surrender, but he just raised his hat, as if 
about to salute — turned to gallop away, whefl a 
volley was fired, and he fell to the ground. He 
was lying there alone, his staff scattered carrying 
orders. An orderly was close by, but he, too, was 


WINONA. 


3; 


wounded and captured. I had just been shot in 
this left arm, and was lying behind a log in sight of 
the place where the General fell. I happened to 
look up just as he threw his hand convulsively to 
his head, and in a second he was down. I crawled 
along in some bushes, managing in that way to es- 
cape and tell the terrible news. My wound necessi- 
tates my falling back for a few weeks, and as it isn't 
serious, I was commissioned to Roswell, with some 
orders in regard to his remains. When I came in 
sight of your house, I remembered overhearing the 
General talking very kindly about you the other 
day when we were here. He seemed to take a 
great fancy to your little girl ; said, ^ If she lives, 
she will be a great woman.’ ” 

When Aunt Sallie turned into the house, it was 
with those words repeating themselves in her ears — 
“if she lives, she will be a great woman.” At that 
moment, Cindy entered saying, “Missus, Rag Jake 
am out dar, an wants fur to kno’ ef you have seed 
his daughter anywhars ’round hiah. Says he haint 
seed nothin’o’ her since de day o’ de fightin’ when 
he run out an’ hid in de woods, and when he come 
back yistiddy, she was done gone. He kaint fine 
’er no-whars, lowd he thought mebbe she mought 
’ave come up hiah, as ’twas sich skeery times.” 

“ No, Cindy, I have seen nothing of her. Indeed, 
I’ve seen no one pass except a man and woman in a 
one mule buggy about dusk the day after the battle. 
They were driving rapidly, and neither of them 


38 


WINONA. 


turned their heads. As the woman wore a quaker 
bonnet, it was impossible for me to see her face,” 
was Aunt Sallie’s reply. 

Well, I’ll go and tell ’im what ye says. I jes’ 
bet dat gal done gone an’ run away fum him, and I 
don’t blame her neider — dey says he beats her like 
er ox sometimes. He aint nothin’ but po’ white 
trash — I don’t like his looks noways, and he’s 
al'ays a sneekin’ and a meddlin’ round hiah dese 
days. He’d better be tendin’ to his own business. 
Ast me one day ef you alls wus rich, and which ov 
de men folks wus worth de moist. I jes’ tole him, 
I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout it, and turned and lef’ 
him a mutterin’ cuss words. I reck’n his gal done 
caught de freedom fever like Sam — khe — he — he. 
Ole Sam, he done gone fur good — yaas Lord, an 
I bet dat nigger ’ll wish he wus back hiah many a 
time fo’ he dies. An’ whars Mr. Simpkins, missus, 
he done gone agin ? ” 

‘‘ Indeed, I don’t know where he is, Cindy, for he 
received a message from father asking him to come 
hurriedly to Atlanta, on important business, the 
morning of the fight here. He had scarcely gotten 
out of sight, when the courier came telling that the 
Yankees were coming. Of course, he is cut off by 
the army now, and I don’t know when he will be 
back.” 

In the mean time, Winona’s fever was slowly abat- 
ing, and Aunt Sallie’s hopes strong for her recovery. 
Another week passed, when one morning, just at 


PVIJVOATA. 


39 


daybreak, there came a rap at the back door. Aunt 
Sallie’s heart sank within her at the thought of 
another scene, like those through which she had 
recently passed ; but, to her great delight there 
came in answer to her question — “Who’s there?’* 
Mr. Simpkins' familiar voice. She threw open the 
door and almost embraced him, so overjoyed was 
she at the sight of a friend. He handed her a 
letter; it was from her dear husband and full of 
earnest prayers for her safety, and hopes for their 
meeting on earth once more. “ No news from 
Dan,” she said, wiping her eyes and putting the 
letter back into the envelope. 

“ None yit, but don’t give up, Miss Sallie ; he may 
turn up all right in the end.” 

“Where are mother and father? Are they safe 
and well ? ” 

“ Oh, they’s all right ; that’s jest what I’ve come 
t’ tell ye. I had a mighty tough time a gittin’ here 
too. You see, I was cut off, and no way to git 
through the line, unless I went miles out o’ the 
way, and run a risk then ; so I jest made up 
my mind to try it bold. I come out at night, and 
crawled along in the bresh as nigh as I could, for 
the picket guard not to see and hear me. I kinder 
slid down in a little gully that was purty thick with 
blackberry bushes. They was mighty sticky, but 
I managed to hold out for two nights an’ a day, 
when a man come along on horseback, and walked 
right over me. One of the horses’ hoofs kinder 


40 


WINONA. 


bruised this leg o’ mine, but I didn’t groan a word, 
for I heerd the guard say: Who comes thar?” 

The man said, ‘‘A friend, with the countersign.” 
“ Advance and give the countersign,” said the 
guard. 1 tell you I had both ears open and caught 
it too. I laid thar mighty nigh till daybreak, when 
I found my chance — give the countersign and 
walked through same’s their own men. Risky 
business though, I tell ye. Well now, ’bout yo’ 
paw. You’ll be amazed to know him and your 
maw’s done refigeed ’way down on Yaller river. 
They heerd the Yankees was a cornin’, so they jest 
piled some truck in the wagins, took the niggers and 
got out o’ their reach. Now, your paw tole me to 
bring you this letter, and to tell you to pack up in a 
wagin, and come and bring Winona here and some 
of the niggers down whar they is, so you can be 
keered for. I tole him I’d do my best t’ git t’ ye, 
and that I’d stay here and take care o’ the house 
the best I could for ye. I’m willin’ t’ do anything 
I can for the old man an hisn, for I tell ye, thar’s 
mighty few like him. He’s been tendin’ on me and 
my folks goin’ on ten year now, and never charged 
me a cent.” 

But, Mr. Simpkins, it will be impossible for me 
to go. Winona has been very ill, and is still quite 
feeble ; it would be dangerous to move her. Then 
John writes me that he is trying to get a furlough, 
and if he succeeds may be at home any time. I 
would not for the world have him come and find the 


WINONA, 


41 


house empty. No, I tell you the better plan : so 
soon as Winona is strong enough, it will be best for 
her to go, for father can give her medical attention, 
should she again get sick, and we are living on the 
mere scraps of food gathered here and there — half 
the time not knowing where the next meal is to 
come from. If it had not been for some dried 
fruit ^left over from last season that was stored 
away in the dungeon, and had been forgotten, I 
don’t know what would have become of us. Then 
we make a good pot of lye hominy now and then, 
out of the scattered corn we pick up; but I don’t 
know how long this is to last, so I think you had 
better go with Winona. I will stay and keep the 
darkies that are left with me. Cindy I know, will 
be faithful. Banni can go with you to look after 
Winona.” 

Days passed. ''Cindy,” said Aunt Sallie one 
morning, " I want you to try and get to the Major's 
to-day to see if they are all dead or alive up there. 
I’ve heard nothing from them for some time now.” 

Cindy began to tremble and moan at the thought 
of for one hour untying herself from her mistress’ 
apron string, and venturing out. To go or not to 
go was the question with her, as she stood fum- 
bling with the corner of her apron, and gazing up the 
road she had been requested to take. 

" Oh, missus,” she cried, clapping her hands for 
joy, " dar he come now, fo’ de Lord, dar come de 
Major, walkin’ down de road ! ” 


42 


mATOATJ. 


Sure enough it was the Major. 

“ What is it — something has happened/' said Aunt 
Sallie, as she advanced to greet him and saw the sad 
expression on his face. He sat down, took off his 
hat, and began wiping the perspiration from his 
brow without having uttered a word. 

I will tell you,” he said, sighing audibly, after a 
moment’s hesitation. “ Dan Hardeman is ” — here 
he hesitated again. 

“ Dead ! ” Aunt Sallie finished. 

The Major only nodded his head in assent. When 
Aunt Sallie had sufficiently recovered from the first 
paroxysm of grief, the Major said, I will tell you 
all about it, word for word as it happened. I was 
returning home from Atlanta, as usual, from my 
work, when just as I got to the house, I saw the 
Southern army hastily retreating ; there was a 
promiscuous destruction going on of everything that 
could be of value to the invading army. I realized 
in a moment, that I could not remain there under 
such circumstances. Ah, Sallie, I had a sad heart 
as I called my wife and children around me, and 
said good-by, promising to come back my first op- 
portunity. I determined to make that opportunity 
as soon as possible, and, for that purpose, went 
immediately to General Hood at his headquarters, 
and asked permission to enter the Federal lines, pro- 
tected by such scouts as he had. General Wheeler’s 
command being stationed on the right of the Con- 
federate army, and immediately in front of my home, 


WINONA. 


43 


I presented my permit to him, explaining my sit- 
uation. I was then consigned to the scouts of the 
Texas Rangers, with instructions to aid me in pene- 
trating the lines. Being familiar with all the paths 
of the country around here, I determined to run the 
gauntlet. I waited until night, when I stealthily 
made my way to the woods. I came up, my heart 
beating pretty fast, at the corner, of the potato 
patch, and was in hailing distance of the house, 
when I stumbled over a wire stretched across the 
road. The noise I made in falling, brought the 
sentinel to his ^ present arms ! ’ He gave the 
command, 'Halt! Who comes there?’ I 
promptly replied, ' A friend unarmed, seeking the 
shelter of his home.’ I was permitted to pass on. 
As I approached my own door, everything was still 
as death, and not alight to be seen. The quiet and 
the darkness of the night gave the white sides of 
the house a spectre like expression, making me think 
of a vault in some lonely graveyard. On entering I 
learned the true condition of affairs. I found our 
house constituted a part of the temporary breast- 
works of the army, with a probability of being the 
location of an active battle the next day. Once 
more I turned my steps to the woods, asking God, 
in His tender mercy, to be with mine until we met 
again. I was almost out of sight, when an owl set 
up its doleful hooting in a tree near me. I turned 
with superstitious dread and looked back, wondering 
if I would ever see my old home again. But con- 


44 


WINONA. 


solation came to me in the words : ‘Trust in the 
Lord and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the land, 
and verily thou shalt be fed.’ I resumed my con- 
nection with the Texas Ranger Scouts, and in that 
way had the privilege of frequently hearing from the 
front ; but only to learn of the extreme destitution 
in which my family were left. I often thought of 
you, for I knew you, too, were suffering. I was led 
to desperation, and determined, this time, to see in 
person, and bring my family out, if possible. To do 
so, I boldly advanced in daylight along the main 
highway, passing first the sentinels of the Confed- 
erate army, who examined the extraordinary permit 
I held, bid me pass on, hoping that nothing would 
molest me. On nearing the house, I encountered 
the Federal Advance Guard. They were in my 
yard drinking water at the well. Without much 
effort, I convinced them of my exemption from 
active military duty, and was permitted to enter the 
house. My beard and hair, from neglect, had grown 
long. To protect the only pair of pants I possessed, 
I tucked them into my boot legs, making me to 
look like a full fledged woodsman. This naturally 
attracted the attention of the commanding officer, 
who reported my presence at home, and charged me 
with being a bushwhacker, and a dangerous man. 
The next day, a mounted Irish corporal came down 
the road and halted at the gate.” 

“ ‘ Halloh ! ’ ” he called out, “ ‘ is the mon of the 
house at hum ? ’ ” 


WINONA. 45 

‘‘‘Here I am,’” said I. “‘Sir, what will you 
have ? ’ ” 

“ ‘ Faith, and I’ll have nathin’, sir,’ ” said he ; “ ‘ tek 
the road to headquarthers and the Generil will tell 
ye what he’ll have with ye.’ ” 

“‘You’ll permit me to make myself more present- 
able for the General, won’t you ? ’ ” I went on. 

“ ‘ The devil,’ ” he answered ; “ ‘ strike the grit and 
be quick about it.’ ” 

“ In a lively trot on foot, about five paces before 
the horse, and corporal, with a drawn pistol in his 
hand, I proceeded to the headquarters of the army. 
The general in command met me pleasantly, and with 
the flattering statement, that I was represented to 
him as a man of intelligence, and perfectly familiar 
with the entire country around here. He expressed 
himself as glad to have the opportunity of confer- 
ring with me in regard to certain roads and by-ways 
lying east of my home, and approaching the fortifi- 
cations of Atlanta. To this I replied: ‘General, if 
this is your object, you have certainly encountered 
the wrong man, and although I regret the necessity 
of the present war, yet I am in entire sympathy with 
the Southern cause. I cannot, under any circum- 
stances, aid our enemies.’ ‘ This, sir,’ he said, 
‘ only confirms the good reputation you bear in 
this country, and but elevates you in my estimation. 
It is so different from the crouching, submissive 
men I sometimes meet, pretending friendship for 
policy’s sake. How is it, sir, that you are not in the 


46 


WINONA. 


army ? ' I answered, ‘ It is not necessary to go into 
details, as you will understand, from this document 
which I present, that I am considered of more impor- 
tance here in following my regular business, than I 
could possibly be bearing arms. It is not of my own 
choice, but the will of my country that I remain at 
home ; and as long as I can render preferred service 
here, I will do so.’ 'But,’ he went on, 'your cause is 
hopeless ; why not go where you can be in peace and 
with your family? I am prepared to send you 
North, out of this trouble, and to a country where 
you can manage to keep the wolf from the door ; and 
when this war is over you can then return to your 
native clime.’ ' General,’ I replied, ‘ I thank you 
very kindly for your many personal compliments, 
and your offer to carry us to the rear. This is my 
home, my country, and my destinies are with it for 
"weal or woe.” To it I owe my allegiance ; duty 
demands my return to my regular avocation, which 
is of such a nature that the government under 
which I am living considers my services of more 
value than I could possibly be in the field. Not 
yet having rendered service as a soldier, I claim ex- 
emption from all military convictions, and feel that 
I am not amenable to your regulations.’ ' Sorry we 
can’t see it in that light, and feel it our duty to dis- 
pose of you according to the regulations of our 
army. Corporal, let us have more water, and an- 
other drink before leaving ; perhaps you will join us 
in a drink, as we have failed to find any since our 


WINONA. 


47 


arrival in this part of the country/ he replied. 
‘ That is true, and we consider our country fortunate 
in not having it. Thanks, I am not a dram drinker,’ 
I said. He continued to catechise me, but finding 
nothing tangible, for which I could be condemned, 
at last, released me. I was at home the next day 
after this, not feeling secure, but closely watching 
an opportunity to escape, when suddenly a company 
marched to a halt in front of my door — Captain, 
Lieutenant, Sergeant and Corporal, with Dan walk- 
ing between — took seats on the front piazza. Dan 
came eagerly to meet me, and wliispered under his 
breath — ' Do what you can to save me.’ I saw at 
a glance that it was a drum-head court martial, and 
felt my heart sink within me. Said the Captain 
to me, ‘ We are here sir, to give you a trial ; ’ then, 
turning to the sergeant said, ‘Sergeant, before pro- 
ceeding, hand us a canteen of that water, and ask the 
woman in the house to send us glasses to take a 
drink of brandy; ’ and going on to me, ‘to investi- 
gate the circumstances under which you are here 
within our lines. Your age and general appearance 
seems to call you into active service on one side or 
the other, and it appears to us that you are a man en- 
tirely out of his place in times like this. We have 
very little time to spend in business of this kind ; 
what have you to say in regard to it ? ’ ‘ Nothing,’ 

said I, ‘more than it is my misfortune to be here, 
prompted entirely by the desire to look after all that 
is near and dear to me ; and, furthermore, I am not 


48 


WINONA, 


now, and have not been connected with the military 
service of my country, and when circumstances will 
permit, I hold myself in readiness to go.’ Mother 
had been standing unobserved, in the doorway, listen- 
ing to what was going on. She could stand it no 
longer, and tottering out said : ' Sir, my home in 
Atlanta having been shelled, under the orders of 
General Sherman I have been sent here, to the resi- 
dence of my son, to remain under his protection, 
and with instructions to the Federal army to aid him 
in any manner, not incompatible with the interest and 
welfare of the army.’ Here she presented the order, 
saying, ‘ I demand a stay of my son’s sentence until 
approved by the General.’ The officers discussed 
the matter between themselves for a few moments, 
and coming to the conclusion that it would be im- 
possible for me to escape without the lines, I was 
left at home for further disposition. ‘ What are you 
going to do with this man? ’ I said, pointing to Dan. 
‘ That is just what we are about to decide, and we 
don’t need your assistance in the matter either,’ 
was the sharp reply. Poor Dan’s expression was an 
anxious one, but I could do nothing but turn into 
the house and sit down at the little window that 
opens upon the porch, where I could hear.” 

During this recital of the Major’s, Winona had 
been busily engaged inside the doorway. She paid 
no attention to the voices on the front piazza until 
during a lull in her doll talk with Susan, she heard 
her brother Dan’s name called. Both the doll and 


WINONA. 


49 


its new dress were immediately ignored, and she 
pattered out to the front porch to see what was 
going on. She ran and kissed the Major, but did 
not detect anything wrong until she turned and saw 
Aunt Sallie weeping. 

'‘What’s the matter. Aunt Sallie? Does some- 
thing hurt you ? ” she queried innocently, her eyes 
opening wide, and a distressed expression coming 
over her face at the sight of her aunt’s tears. 

" Listen, darling, ” was all Aunt Sallie could say, 
as she tenderly kissed the little upturned face and 
lifted her into her lap. 

The Major cleared his throat, and went on : 
" The substance of it was, that Dan had about 
recovered from his wound at Gettysburg, and 
had gone on the field again. But it proved too 
much for him. Unable to be in active service, 
he applied for a furlough, which he obtained 
with but little trouble. On reaching Atlanta, he 
found himself cut off, but being so near he 
couldn’t stand the idea of going back without see- 
ing you all, and so in trying to get through the 
Federal lines, he was captured. ‘ Plausible story,’ 
sarcastically remarked one, as Dan finished his de- 
fence. Then came the testimony from another that 
Dan had been caught trying to get through their 
lines near here, — circumstantial evidence making 
him out a spy. I jumped up and hurried to the 
piazza. ‘Comrades,’ said the Captain, ‘you have 
heard the testimony and defence in this case ; what 


50 


WINONA. 


disposition shall we make of the prisoner accused ? ’ 
‘ It is ordered that he be pinioned to a tree and shot, 
according to the regulations in such cases,' was the 
terrible reply.” 

'‘Oh, Aunt Sallie,” interrupted Winona, "did 
they kill my brother? Oh, oh!” and she nestled 
her head, sobbing, on Aunt Sallie’s bosom. " Oh, 
won't he ever come back any more. Aunt Sallie?” 
she questioned between her sobs. 

" Listen, dear, ” and gentle caresses, was all the 
consolation that could be given her. 

Again the major went on — "'Gentlemen,' I inter_ 
rupted, ' I beg a word for this honest man. Be- 
fore God, he is innocent of the charge you bring 
against him. I can prove — ' ' We want none of 

your proof,' broke in the Captain, ‘ and if you don’t 
keep quiet, we will reconsider your case.' He gave 
the command to ' Right-about.' Dan got up. I 
could see the muscles hardening in his face, as 
he clinched his teeth. He stood motionless for a 
moment, as if summoning with his last strength 
all his courage to meet his horrible fate. He 
walked to the steps, turned and looked in this 
direction. I knew he was thinking of Winona 
and you. It was too much for him. The mus- 
cles began to relax — the tears rushed to his eyes — 
the well rounded chin quivered like a leaf. Sud- 
denly he extended his arms imploringly towards 
you: 'Little sister — home!' he said, and in a burst 
of anguish reeled against a post of the piazza. Oh, 


WINONA. 


51 


it was pitiful ! ^ Oh — Oh — 0-h my God ! my 

God ! ’ — he cried. I put my arm about him, and 
begged him to brace up and meet it like a man. 
*0h, it is not death — no, no, not death that I 
dread! ' he said, in his deep emotion. ^ May he not 
go home, if only for a moment’s farewell? he lives 
but a short distance,’ I pleaded. ‘ We can prolong 
this scene no longer, ’ said the Captain, with an offi- 
cial air, and gave the command, ‘Forward-march!’ 
Dan felt hurriedly in his pocket and brought out a 
key. ‘Give this to Aunt Sallie,’ he said, ‘and tell 
her it will unlock my old trunk that is hid away in 
the dungeon. In the right hand corner, she will find 
a package of papers and a letter directed to little 
sister; tell Aunt Sallie to read it when alone — she is 
the only mother I have here.' He emphasized here, 
as if thinking of his own mother, to whom he would 
so soon go. ‘ Tell her to guard the papers that she 
will find there, as she would her life — they are valu- 
able. No one knows anything but Mr. Simpkins; I 
left them and the letter there when I went to the 
war, so that if I never came back they would tell all.’ 
This he was telling me as he marched along between 
the officers, with their clinking side arms sounding 
like the wetting of knives. I followed at his side. 
When we got just beyond the wheat-field, into the 
woods, they came to a halt. Ten soldiers were 
waiting there for them. The Captain, straightening 
himself up to the proper dignity of his position, said 
in an indifferent, monotonous tone, like a school-boy 


52 


WINONA. 


repeating the multiplication table, — ‘ Lieutenant 
Black of Company C, Fifth Artillery, will execute 
the order by placing a file of ten soldiers, five of which 
shall fire blank cartridges, and five ball cartridges at 
ten paces. Go ! and do your duty promptly, and 
without torture to the unfortunate condemned. 
Prisoner, such is your doom ; prepare to meet it.’ 
The muscles in poor Dan’s face stiffened again. 
We grasped each other’s hands, and looked good-hy — 
neither of us could say it. With a firm step, like a 
man and brave soldier, he walked to the tree where 
they pinioned him. It w^as an oak. He rested his 
manly head against its strong trunk, and looked up, 
yes, not down but up. You know how handsome he 
was, Sallie; well, I never saw him look so grandly as 
he did then, just in the prime of his young man- 
hood. The wind had gently blown the brown locks 
from his high forehead. His shirt collar was 
unbuttoned and thrown back, exposing his broad 
chest, that rose and fell with the strength of deep 
feeling. The blue veins about his temples were 
swollen ; drops of perspiration stood on his brow, 
and from the earnest expression of his fine eyes, I 
knew that he was praying. The very leaves above 
his head seemed to stop their rustling to listen to 
his holy supplication. Then came the command 
and question : ‘ Detachment — present arms — are you 
ready? — Fire ! ’ There was a flash of light, a volley 
of smoke, and Dan Hardeman’s warm life-blood 
gushed forth. You have felt, as well as seen the 


WINONA. 


S3 


contrast on a bright day, when the sun would sud- 
denly go under a thick cloud — so it was then. Oh, 
yes ; it was terrible, Sallie, but try not to cry so. 
The great Father who watches even a sparrow when 
it falls, looked down on that manly head, as it 
drooped to his breast in death, I know. Leave it all 
to Him. I took charge of Dan’s body, and with 
the assistance of one of the darkies, put him away in 
a pine box at the foot of the tree. I once sat 
watching an artist carving a Christ from an ivory 
bone, and wondered what emotions his work aroused 
in his heart. When I took my rude pocket knife and 
cut the letters D. H. in that tree, as a ‘head- 
board, ’ I think my feelings then, and that artist’s, 
were somewhat akin. I knew you were alone, and 
to have sent you word would have done no good, 
for it was dangerous for any one to go about. I de- 
cided it was best to leave him there until I could 
get to you myself, tell you all about it, and to- 
gether give him a Christian burial. I told my wife 
of it, so that if I was captured, or anything 
happened to me, she could tell you the sad circum- 
stance. Just at that time, General Hood made 
a dash into the rear of the Federal army, necessi- 
tating, as you know, the withdrawal of the forces 
around my home. They were in such haste to get 
away that they forgot to look after my ‘case,’ as 
the Captain of the Court Martial termed it. The 
country being left open, I refuged with my family 
immediately, and sought shelter under our own 


54 


WINONA, 


generals. This is my first opportunity to get to you, 
and now I’ve come to help you bury Dan.” 

It was a sad little company that gathered that 
afternoon around an open grave in the Harde- 
man burying ground,” about a quarter of a mile to 
the west of Aunt Sallie’s. The pine box contain- 
ing the remains of Dan Hardeman was lowered 
into the ground. A simple prayer was made, a 
plaintive, old-fashioned tune was sung, and the 
benediction said. The Hardeman meeting-house, 
the cradle of Dan’s spiritual life, and in whose 
holy shadow the new-made grave lay, seemed to say 
with its solemnized expression, Peace — let him 
rest ; ” and the tear-stained faces turned away. 
There was but one dry countenance among all who 
witnessed that pitiful scene, and that was Rag 
Jake’s. He stood at a little distance peeping out 
from behind a tree — no one knew he was there, and 
had they seen him could not have judged his feel- 
ings by his expression, for he wore a chronic one 
under all circumstances. It was that of a shrivelled 
Irish potato, with a slit in it for a mouth, and small, 
yellow, blinking eyes, that expressed intrinsic mean- 
ness. He waited until the company of mourners 
had disappeared, then stole off through the woods. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Winona’s big Newfoundland dog, Turk, lay snooz- 
ing under the kitchen window one morning when 
Cindy threw a pan of water out over his head. He 
jumped up, and stood gazing with a strange ex- 
pression in his eyes ; but when she tossed a fresh 
bone to him a moment later, he shook the water off 
his shaggy coat, wagged his tail, and went gnawing 
away, as if nothing had happened to disturb his 
slumbers. It was the same dazed expression that 
came into Winona’s eyes as she sat rocking in her 
little chair, gazing into nothingness, thinking of the 
death of her brother. Just then, Aunt Sallie came 
in, and told her she was to take a trip to see 
grandpa and grandma. She clapped her little hands 
joyfully, piled her playthings away in hurried con- 
fusion, talking excitedly all the while to her doll, 
Susan, of the lots of fun they were going to have, 
and the big Yellow river. She cautioned her par- 
ticularly about not running away from her to play 
in its waters, for she might fall in and get drowned. 
Then she wondered if grandma would have any 
fried doughnuts, and if there was a candy store near 
by where she could buy candy with the nickels 


WINONA. 


56 

grandpa would give her. Happy as a bird in 
spring, hugging her doll Susan, she rode away with 
Mr. Simpkins and Banni towards Yellow river a 
few days after the burial. Their journey was full of 
vicissitudes, and not unmixed with fear of running 
upon the Yankees. To Winona, especially, was it 
hazardous on account of the continued exposure, 
which caused her a relapse on reaching their des- 
tination. In the mean time. Aunt Sallie at home 
was endeavoring to keep a brave heart for any fate, 
and hoping with each day that times would be 
better. 

As the summer waned, Winona slowly grew 
stronger. Grandpa’s supplies had run short, making 
it necessary for them to move their quarters. All 
railroad facilities to Atlanta were cut off except 
the Central road, and, in order to reach that, they 
came through the country to Barnsville. There, 
grandpa, grandma and Winona took the train for 
Atlanta, leaving the darkies to look after the teams 
and wait for their return with fresh supplies. The 
first news that greeted them on their arrival was, 
‘‘General Hood can hold the city no longer; he is 
going to give it up to Sherman.” “ Our cause is 
lost,” said grandpa, and turned sadly towards his 
home to at least get a last look at it. 

“Wife,” he said, “let us lock a few valuable 
things in an upstairs room ; by a hair’s breadth we 
may save them. Take what we can carry in our 
arms and make our way back to Barnsville, for to- 


WINONA, 


57 


morrow Atlanta is to be evacuated. General Sher- 
man has issued an order requiring the departure of 
all citizens within eight days, except such as are in 
the employ of the Federal government. The mayor 
and councilmen, in behalf of the citizens, have earn- 
estly petitioned for a revocation of the order, but to 
no effect. One of the clergymen, for the same pur- 
pose, has interviewed Sherman, but his reply was, 
‘Fortune of war, sir, fortune of war! I want this 
place for a citadel, and want no white citizens in it.* 
And so we must go.’* 

The next day was a memorable one to the people 
in Atlanta. As dawn peeped above the eastern 
hilltops, a wretched spectacle greeted her. Fully 
twelve thousand men, women and children, driven 
from their homes, were hurrying hither and thither 
in wild confusion. The earth trembled under the 
rumbling wagons, bearing the sick, and what of fur- 
niture and clothing they hoped to escape with. All 
day an incessant procession of terror stricken 
humanity and beasts kept the streets in a state of 
uproar. Gray haired men tottered with their canes 
— the lame hobbled on their crutches — children 
screamed and clung to the skirts of their mothers — 
cows lowed and bellowed — horses pawed and 
neighed — dogs howled, barked, and panted with 
lolling tongues, as if mad ; while fainting mothers 
sank down on the wayside, to nurse their crying 
babes. All with the scantiest means, going — they 
knew not where. 


58 


WINONA. 


''Come, wife, Winona,” said grandpa, "there is 
just room for us here in this old freight caboose ; 
hurry, hurry, or we will be crowded out ; ’tis this or 
nothing.” 

The three piled in the narrow quarters with a lot of 
other people, irrespective of wealth or position, 
like stock in a pen, and started off towards Barns- 
ville. It was slow, and most uncomfortable travel- 
ling at best, but when the engine broke down, and 
they had to stand for a night and day, out of 
reach of help, it meant absolute suffering. Their 
limited quantity of food soon gave out, and there 
was nothing left to do but fast. To Winona, not 
having fully regained her strength, the journey was 
most trying. The child began crying from hunger, 
when a good woman shared her scanty meal of two 
stale biscuits with her, which was all she had to eat 
during that day and night they were waiting. Then 
grandma left her for a moment to go for water in a 
branch in sight. Before she had gone fifty steps 
from the car, she heard a scream, and turning saw 
Winona lying, face-foremost, on a pile of pig-irons> 
just outside the car window, from which the child 
was leaning, when she lost her balance and fell. On 
picking her up senseless, a deep gash was found just 
at the corner of the eye and touching the temple. 

" My God, she is dead ! ” cried grandma, but a 
moment later, a low moan escaped Winona's lips. 

" Not dead, but even if she lives, she is scarred 
for life,” added grandpa, hopelessly. 


Pr/JVOATA, 


59 


They rolled into Barnsville just before daylight 
and sat down on a log by the road-side to wait for 
sufficient light to guide them to the camp. 
Grandma hugged Winona closely in her arms, to 
protect her as well as she could from the night dews. 

‘‘ If this child lives through this, it will be a 
miracle,'* said grandpa, for already she has suffered 
in the past few months, more than many a strong 
man could endure. Should she live to be an old 
woman, her war scar will never leave her.” 

Then followed months of hardship; living in a 
small house, and buying whatever they could of cloth- 
ing and food, at any price, with Confederate money. 

On the i6th of November of the same year, 
General Sherman commenced his devastating march 
to the sea. A few days after, the news reached 
grandpa — ‘‘ Sherman has destroyed Atlanta.” 

‘‘Well, I will go back and see its condition at any 
rate, and think over what is to be done,” he said, 
with a deep sigh of resignation. The next month 
he went. He found the city a mass of charred 
debris. What could not be burned had been blown 
up and torn down. In order to get to the spot 
where he expected to find his own home a wreck, he 
had to climb over heaps of ruins and walk through 
piles of ashes. The only signs of life were a flock of 
vultures here and there feeding on a decaying car- 
cass, which would flutter and fly at hiS approach, or 
some half starved dog prowling for food. 

‘‘ What could have saved it ! ” exclaimed grandpa 


6o 


WINONA. 


to himself, as he saw the large white house with its 
green blinds and great Corinthian pillars — his home, 
looming up in the distance like a monument to its 
annihilated neighbors. The door was unlocked and 
creaked on rusty hinges, as he stepped in upon the 
bare floor. The carpets had been replaced by a 
coating of dust, and in place of the pictures on the 
walls, thick cobwebs hung. An old writing desk, 
and two or three rickety chairs were every vestige of 
furniture the house contained. Clothing, bedding, 
everything was gone. 

‘‘ Ah, I see how it was saved — these scraps of 
paper, this desk, and the writings on the walls ex- 
plain everything,” thought grandpa. From what 
I gather, this house was used for offices of the 
generals. Well, what is to be done,” was the next 
thought suggested to him, as he took one of the 
chairs and sat down by a window. For several 
hours he sat there, thinking and trying to plan, un- 
til the moon rose full orbed, and lit with illusive 
expression the rugged ruins. The night was clear 
and cold. Not a sound was to be heard, save the 
melancholy wind that sighed around the corner of 
the house, seeming to say : “ Gone ! a-l-l-g-o-o-n- 

n-e-e.” On looking out, musing, as did grandpa, 
over that stretch of desolation, one could, with a 
glance into the past, see a beautiful woman dressed 
in a chiton, and with sandalled feet — a terrible war — 
then ruins for centuries buried. Would this loved 
city, Atlanta, be a second Troy? Had the invad- 


WINONA, 


6i 


ing hosts usurped her power, and left her to sleep in 
debris through ages — perhaps forever — with only 
her memory living in song or story? By the gods 
of Olympus, no ! Be patient, oh, moon-lit ruins ! 
Thy haggard face shall yet wear progression’s smile ! 
Phoenix like, shalt thou rise to grander heights, for 
on thy battered gates we read — “ Resurgam ! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


April, 1865, brought not only sunshine and 
shadow to the earth, but joy and sorrow to the 
people of the South. The words, ‘‘ General Lee has 
surrendered ! meant a lost cause, but likewise a 
stop of bloodshedding. There were many sad hearts 
of widowed wives, orphaned children, and childless 
mothers, and many grateful ones happy in the 
embrace of their dear ones returned to them. Did 
Atlanta's people sit and mope over the condition of 
affairs? Surely no! The men put down their guns 
and took up the ploughshares. We will begin 
anew," was their motto. Women who had known 
nothing but luxury before the war, put their hands 
to the spinning wheel and their thoughts to econ- 
omy. ‘‘ Make the best of it,' 'was their watchword. 
Slowly but surely, the streets of Atlanta were cleared 
and the sound of saw and hammer resounded on all 
sides. For months the bitterest hardships were 
endured, but her citizens kept brave hearts and 
willing hands. Grandpa and his family were once 
more reinstated in their old home. Now, Winona, 
still a delicate child, with an ugly scar about her 
eye, formed one of their number, for grandpa said 


WINONA. 


63 


she was quite old enough to begin school, and could 
have better advantages in town than in the country 
with Aunt Sallie. 

Childlike, she jumped up and down, in a state of 
ecstasy at the thought, and ran and put her Susan doll 
away in a closet with a lot of old rubbish, as if forever 
forsaking her childish ways for a more dignified call- 
ing. She had so often swung on the front gate, when 
the school bell would ring, to watch the big girls, with 
their books and satchels going by, and wonder in 
admiration, if ever she would be like them ; and now, 
she was really going to be. Her blue-back spelling 
book was so clean and new, and she had such a feel- 
ing of importance as her teacher wrote her full name 
in it on the fly-leaf, and cautioned her gently against 
getting it soiled. Then, it was such fun to draw on 
her slate (only it made her flesh tingle to sharpen 
the pencil) caricatures, which she called dogs 
and “ horses.'' But the recess was the best of all, 
for there were so many little girls her own age to 
play with, and the nice lunch grandma had tied 
up tasted so much better than when seated stiffly at 
the big dining table, where reproachful glances were 
cast at her when her table manners were not ‘‘just 
so." Winona had never known the companionship 
of children. Her big dog, Turk, Mett, and the 
colored girl Banni, who looked after her, had been 
her only sources of amusement. She had passed 
her days in an atmosphere of “old folks' talk," 
being taught that “little children must be seen and 


64 


WINONA. 


not heard/’ And so only in snatches of her artless 
doll talk, did her individuality have an opportunity 
to assert itself. 

What a potent charm is that strange, inexplicable 
influence called ‘‘ personal magnetism ! ” The pos- 
session of it has placed many of limited capacity 
upon the heights of success ; and the lack of it in 
others kept from them the laurels of great abil- 
ity. It is that which when a speaker steps upon 
a platform enables him with the utterance of one 
sentence, to have his audience in his grasp. It is 
the lack of it that causes another to have his words, 
full of meaning and sound logic, to be received with 
indifference. It is that which in the general walk 
of life, oftentimes inspires confidence and promotes 
men to leadership. It is that which frequently 
stamps an unknown man, as he walks into a com- 
pany, as ‘‘somebody,” before he has even spoken a 
word. It was this mysterious, subtile quality in 
Winona’s little nature that caused her playmates to 
call out — “ We are going to play mother : let Winona 
Hardeman be the mother.” Again, they would 
quote her as authority on subjects of their childish 
discussions, or leave them to her decision. Yet, she 
was a child of nature. It did not take long for the 
novelty of going to school to wear off, and the first 
day grandma was expecting company to spend the 
day, she timidly asked to stay at home “just that 
day.” On being refused, she sullenly permitted 
Banni to button on her clean apron, picked up her 


WINONA. 6 $ 

book, and went out saying to herself : ‘‘ Oh, I wish 
I didn’t have to go ! ” 

Soon a ‘‘homesick feeling ” to see her doll seized 
her. Despite the absence of Susan’s two feet and 
one arm, she dragged her out of the rubbish with 
as much zest as a young maiden dons a becoming 
spring bonnet, after having put it aside for a season. 
And so, Susan’s second reign commenced, which 
interfered very seriously, at times, with Winona’s 
getting of lessons ; but she was unusually bright, and 
could catch, while listening, what a more stupid 
child would have to study diligently. In this way, 
alone, did she frequently retain her superiority in 
her class, having a disposition, somewhat like a 
Quaker, to do things only as the “ spirit moved ” her. 
Some of her classmates called her the “ show-off 
scholar,” because she was always sent to the black- 
board to draw, and was called upon to read for com- 
pany. Others spitefully accused the teacher of 
partiality to her. She doubtless would have gotten 
the first prize at the end of the term had not grandpa 
given her a new wax doll on her birthday. Poor, 
maimed Susan, with her stiff china locks parted 
in the middle, and brought down behind her 
ears, was once more doomed to the closet, and 
the waxen faced “ Girl of the Period ” usurped 
her kingdom. Ah, how often is one’s faithful 
friendship forgotten in times of pleasure, to be 
sought again in an hour of loneliness ; only to 
be put away finally at the appearance of some one 


66 


WINONA. 


who would better serve a purpose. Oh, waxen 
faced Girl of the Period, do not smile so compla- 
cently in your silken robes, from your throne. The 
very subjects which have placed you upon a pedes- 
tal, may yet cause you a most inglorious fall. A 
few risings and settings of the sun, and you, too, 
will be laid low with Susan, and the other old and 
unfortunate. 

Girl like, Winona developed the habit of chewing 
gum ; consequently, before the wax doll had been in 
her possession very long, deep furrows, made by her 
little finger nail, scarred the fair face. A few more 
moons found her in the closet by Susan’s side, skin- 
less, scalped — a thing of the past. 

Grandma said Winona was getting to be a regular 
tom-boy,” for she would climb the fences and 
trees on the lot, until the toes of her shoes were 
worn through in great holes. As a punishment one 
morning, grandma handed a new pair of copper- 
toed shoes to Banni, and told her to lace them on 
Winona. It was a keen blow to the child’s vanity, 
but she was too proud to cry, and sat submissively 
for them to be laced. Laura Wilkins sat near 
Winona in school. She was the child of parents 
who were like puffed up frogs that had forgotten 
their tadpole days. Laura was daily inheriting 
much of their disposition. When Winona entered 
with her copper-toed shoes, she snickered behind 
her book, and nudged her neighbor to look. 
Winona felt, as well as saw, the sport that was being 


mATONA. 


67 


made of her. All day her little heart was heavy. 
She had never felt so before. At recess she sat 
apart, and refused to jump the rope or join in any 
of the sports. As soon as school was dismissed, she 
hurried home alone — ran upstairs and hid herself, 
where she burst into tears. 

How like a tender sweet flower is the heart of a 
child ! Many do not realize how easily its petals 
are bruised. Every vein swells with love’s perfume. 
There is no room for selfishness. In bestowing 
sweetness, it is no respector of persons. How keen 
to it are the first cold storms of the world. How it 
droops — then turns yearningly to the sunlight of 
love, so necessary to its life. The love of child- 
hood is the pure extract. The love of after life is a 
diluted or adulterated perfume. 

That night when grandpa came home, Winona 
did not run to meet him as usual, her eyes gleaming 
with joy. She waited until he had been in the 
house some time, then quietly came up as he was 
reading, and timidly leaned against his arm, looking 
up into his face with a pity-me expression.” She 
was always so rollicking that her manner of ap- 
proaching him somewhat surprised grandpa. He 
put down his paper. One glance into her face told 
him something was wrong. 

‘‘ Why, what is the matter? ” he said, lifting her 
to his knee, and kissing her. 

Winona did not reply, but continued to toy with 
the hem of her apron. 


68 


WINONA. 


Who’s been treating my pet badly ?” grandpa 
went on sympathetically, to gain her confidence. 

Her chin began to quiver. The words came as if 
torn from her lips — Grandma — don’t love — me — 
she — scolded me — and said I was a — tom-boy. I 
climbed the fence — to look over — and holes come 
— in my shoes — grandma — made me — wear these ” 
(holding up one of her copper-toed shoes). ‘‘ Laura 
— Wilkins made fun of — me ; boo — hoo — hoo — o-o 
-o ! ” 

Winona sobbed as if her little heart would break. 

‘‘There, now, don’t cry — don’t cry any more, and 
grandpa will buy you a pretty pair of shoes. 
Grandma does love you ; she only wants to teach 
you to be a nice little lady. I wouldn’t mind Laura 
Wilkins — there, don’t cry any more now; maybe she 
didn’t mean it.” 

Grandpa’s loving words were a “peace, be still ” 
to her troubled heart. He drew her close to him. 
She rested her head against his breast. Soon she 
fell asleep under the tender, pacifying strokes of his 
hand, as he smoothed her brow. Ah, gray-haired 
sire, nestling that childish form, that quivered like a 
wounded bird, do you realize all that you have done ? 
Not only have you chased away the warm tear rain, 
with the sunlight of your love, but you have left a 
touch of sympathy upon Winona’s brow, that will 
linger until death. 

An hour later, Winona was tumbling somersets 
on her bed, and trying to stand on her head, like 


mNOATA. 


6g 


some of the boys she had seen. Banni, as usual, 
constituted her audience. Presently she came down 
with a thud, making the bed to creak. 

“ Law, Noni,'’ said Banni, in a frightened under- 
tone, “ you better 'have yo’sef. You gwine knock 
de slats outen dat bed drectly, den ole missus’ll be a 
cornin’ in hiah arter us. You’ll tek cold fannin’ 
roun’ in yo’ gown anyhows. Git under dat kiver 
and I’ll tell you a tale.” 

Whether Banni’s words recalled the copper-toed 
shoes, or the promise of a tale proved a subduer, 
is not known ; but Winona crept under the cover 
without a word. Banni was a good natured darkey ; 
she loved Winona, and the child, in return, loved 
her. Banni came into her life when the light came. 
There already existed between them an attachment 
that would last forever. It was that touching rela- 
tionship, so often seen between the children of the 
South, and their black mammies and maids. Banni 
sat on the floor in front of the fire, her feet crossed 
under her. Her thick wooly hair was divided into 
many patches, and wound tightly with cotton thread. 
She scratched her head thoughtfully a moment, then 
began : One time dar was a little gal, and she 
runned away from her paw an’ maw, and went t’ de 
woods t’ pick blackberries, and a big bear come — ” 

''You are just making that up,” interrupted 
Winona. 

" No, I aint, ne’der,” retorted Banni. 

Just at this critical period of the story, grandma 


70 


WINONA. 


entered to hear Winona say her prayers and dis- 
miss Banni for the night. 

And so in the sunlight and shadow of her April 
childhood, she fast glided into May girlhood. 
What rapid developments of character come with 
this period. The true disposition of the child be- 
gins to show itself. Thought and reason whet their 
swords for fiercer battles, and appreciation smiles in 
recognition. What happy days it brings ; Sunday- 
school picnic days. If there was anything that 
could fill Winona's heart with joy to overflowing, it 
was the thought of the annual Sunday-school picnic. 

She didn’t mind going to Sunday-school when 
the lesson wasn’t very hard. There were so many 
other girls there — she was so fond of her teacher, 
and she loved to sing the Sunday-school songs. Es- 
pecially did she enjoy going when she wore a new 
white dress, pretty blue sash, buff shoes and Sunday 
hat. She carried her dainty little parasol as stiffly 
and upright as if it were a piece of delicate china, 
and feared breaking it. She could admire herself 
in the mirror for an hour at a time when arrayed in 
that outfit. There was but one disagreeable thing 
connected with it — she had to sit so still, to keep 
from rumpling her sash. She thought her teacher 
such a beautiful young lady, and how she longed to 
be grown” and look like her. 

Winona had a number of merit cards she had 
given her, and a lovely book for a prize. These she 
valued very highly, and kept them wrapped in tis- 


IVINOiVA, 


71 


sue paper, only bringing them out to show now and 
then. But in the presence of the annual picnic, all 
else dwindled into insignificance. It absorbed her 
dreams by night, and was the theme of her talk by 
day for weeks beforehand. To her great pleasure, 
the superintendent of the Sunday-school would tap 
the bell for several preceding Sundays and say, “ We 
will now discuss the picnic for ten minutes.” Then 
he would proceed to appoint committees of arrange- 
ment, and hear their suggestions. 

Winona had thought as a child that Christmas 
was the grandest time of all the year. The Christ- 
mas tree, with its lighted tapers, glittering tinsels 
and festooned pop-corn gave her supreme happi- 
ness. Then Santa Claus came in person, with his 
great fur coat and flowing white beard, to deal out 
to the scholars the tantalizing packages. But since 
he had cruelly been unmasked to her, Christmas 
was to the taste, as champagne with the efferves- 
cence gone. But picnics would come with every 
spring time, and she felt sure, in her artless thoughts, 
that they would never lose their charm. 

Would that it could be so! When the heart is 
young there is a fresh spiciness in pleasure that 
loses its strength with age. 

Grandma and the cook always prepared the din- 
ner. Winona was permitted to stand by, if she 
wouldn’t get in the way,” and look.” 

The clack — clack — clack — click clack,” of the 

egg-beater was so fascinating to her, and it was so 


72 


WINONA. 


interesting to see grandma put the icing; on the 
cakes. Then she was always allowed to scrape 
the pans when the cake stuck to the bot- 
tom. 

“I wish we could have a picnic every week ! ” 
said Winona, as she viewed longingly a tempting 
jelly-roll. 

Well, I don’t,” answered grandma, feelingly, as 
she shut the stove door that had just burnt a blister 
on her finger, then mopped the perspiration from 
her face with the corner of her apron with a — 

whew ! ” The cook didn’t say anything, but cast 
a disgusted glance in Winona’s direction, as she was 
kneading away on the dough for pie crust. When 
grandma stepped out for a moment, she began talk- 
ing aloud to herself — 

‘‘ Umph ! ebery week! childun ain’t got no sense 
nohows ; ef dey had all di work t’ do and messin’ to 
clean arter, dey’d be glad ’nuf t’ stay at home. It’s 
all jes’ foolishness — gwine out in de woods an’ eatin’ 
til dey git sick, and gittin’ full o’ chiggers, and 
ticks ; den, be a whinin’ and scratchin’ deysef for a 
week arter.” 

Banni made no unfavorable comments, for she al- 
ways went along to carry the basket, and in that way 
came in for part of the fun. 

The girls looked so neat and sweet in their new 
gingham dresses and white sun-bonnets. There was 
such a scrambling for seats ‘‘next to the windows” 
in the cars. The happy faces looked out on the 


tViNONA, 


73 

observing crowd with such a don’t-you-wish-you 
were-going expression. 

The train emptied them into the heart of the 
woods, and like rabbits let out of a cage, they scam- 
pered in all directions. What a glorious feast was 
the dinner of fried chicken, cake, pies and such like. 
The mammas made much ado about the empty 
dishes being misplaced, and they tried to be so 
courteous in disposing of what was left over.” 
There was a general exchanging of compliments, 
and requests for recipes of the different eatables 
among them. 

Tired out, they all piled into the cars again late 
in the afternoon. Their gingham dresses were 
soiled or torn, their sun-bonnets crushed, and their 
hands full of withered wild flowers. As the train 
rolled into town, they began singing, to let people 
know they were coming. 

“ Grandma, let me tell you something,” said 
Winona, in an injured tone, coming in from school 
one afternoon. Laura Wilkins is going to give a 
birthday party, and she didn’t invite me.” 

Well, my dear,” replied grandma, consolingly, 
you must not feel badly about it. Under the cir- 
cumstances, I don’t know that you should expect 
an invitation.” 

‘‘What is the circumstances?” queried Winona. 

“ This is what I mean. The world calls Mr. and 
Mrs. Wilkins ‘society people.’ You grandpa and 
I ‘substantial people.’ Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins are 


74 


tVINONA. 


rich — they have fine carriages, Wear fine clothes, 
and lead a gay life. Your grandpa and I have no 
desire to spend our money in making a show. We 
are old fashioned and quiet people. Mrs. Wilkins’ 
disposition and mine are so unlike, there could be 
no pleasure in our knowing each other. We 
do know each other by sight, yet we are strangers.” 

“ But, grandma, Laura and I know each other ; 
she sits next to me in school and uses my things 
whenever she likes — even if she did make fun of me 
once, and sometimes I divide my lunch with her. 
You know it’s Laura’s party, and not her mother’s.” 

‘‘Yes, dear, but her mother sends the invitations 
to those she would like to have her daughter culti- 
vate. Then, as I said before, Mrs. Wilkins and I 
are strangers. There are certain rules of society 
called ‘conventionalities’ that must be observed. 
Don’t worry about it, and I’ll let you go to the 
country to see Aunt Sallie on Saturday. You will 
have much more real fun there wading in the 
branch and riding the horses, than you would at the 
party. I want you, my darling child, to grow up 
as your dear, dead mother and father would have 
had you. I want you to be good and obedient — to 
study and become accomplished ; then you will be 
happy and every one will love you. You have a 
proud, sensitive nature, I can see it now, that 
will cause you to suffer much in life, I fear ; but if 
you will do as I tell you, the day will come when 
you will feel so strong in your dignity you will never 


tV/ATO/i/J. 


75 


have to buy your way or position ; it will be yours 
by might of right. It will not only be because of a 
legacy that may be left you, or that you are related 
to the honorable So and So ; it will be because of 
yourself y 

Winona looked bewildered. She drew a deep 
breath, sat thoughtfully a moment, then went out 
without another word. 

‘‘What does it all mean?’' she tried to reason 
when alone. “ Why are people strangers to each 
other, any way ? Why do they pass each other 
without speaking? And what is all that that 
grandma wants me to do ? My dear dead mother 
and father ! — what made them die ; why can’t I 
have a papa and mamma like other girls ? Poor 
brother Dan ! Oh, why did God let them kill him? 
That terrible word con-con-ven-conven-tion-aW- 
ties ! what a hard word ! Is there really any differ- 
ence between Laura Wilkins and myself because 
her mother’s carriage is bright and new, and 
my grandma’s is old and dusty? Because her 
mother wears bright silk dresses and grandma wears 
sombre ones ? S-t-r-a-n-g-e-r-s ! ” 

The window was open. Winona leaned out on 
its sill in a thoughtful attitude, her chin resting in 
the palm of her hand. All of these thoughts 
rushed in bewildered confusion through her young 
brain. She looked out over a stretch of house-tops 
and patches of green. Far to the north a glimpse 
of the Blue Ridge gave the scenery a solemn grand- 


76 


WINONA, 


eur. The shadows were creeping in the valleys, 
while the rays of the setting sun trembled in death 
on the tall church spires. Finding herself for the 
first time in the presence of the immense, unex- 
plained enigmas of life, an indescribable feeling of 
depression came over her. The tears oozed from 
her eyes, and slowly trickled down her sweet innocent 
face. A crowd of boys wrestling on the lawn next 
door at last broke Winona’s reverie. She was sure 
she heard Henry Brown’s voice — hurriedly brushed 
the tears away and went to the side window to see. 
Yes, he was there. He was a great friend of the 
boy next door, so she often had the stolen pleasure 
of peeping through the blinds at him. ‘‘ He 
was such a nice boy,” she went on to herself 
in a second reverie. ‘ Oh, he was so good 
looking! He had given her such a lovely 
red and blue pencil to draw maps with at school, 
and she felt so funny when he did it. The girls 
said she blushed, but she knew she didn’t. 
Grandma said she was entirely too young to be 
thinking of boys ; but Henry Brown was only one 
boy. And then he wasn’t boisterous and bad, like 
the rest anyway. How she wished she was a boy, 
and could play base-ball ; run and jump, and have 
real fun. There was real fun in dressing up in 
grandma’s clothes and twisting her hair in a knot 
on the top of her head, to play lady with Banni, but 
it wasn’t like boys' fun. Why was it boys could 
do anything they wanted to and nobody said any- 


IVINONA, 


77 


thing ? When she wanted to romp, grandma 
looked shocked, and told her to sit down and go to 
piecing her quilt, and be lady-like. How glad boys 
ought to be that they didn’t have to be lady-like — 
it was so tiresome. She just knew Henry Brown 
sent her that valentine. The paper looked like 
white lace, and there was such a cute picture of a 
little boy named Cupid on it, shooting an arrow 
through a heart. Wasn’t the verse of poetry 
lovely ! 

“ The rose is red, and violet’s blue ; 

Sugar is sweet, and so are you.” 

Henry Brown climbed the fence and was gone. 
Winona watched him out of sight, then turned the 
blinds down — the night had come. 


CHAPTER VL 


As one waking from a sound sleep to find the early 
morning sun streaming in glory through their open 
casement, the air thrilled with the passionate songs 
of birds rejoicing at the birth of a new day, so 
Winona waked into womanhood. Like Joan of 
Arc standing amid the green where her flock of 
sheep grazed, dreamy mind visions floating about 
her, came to Winona the thoughts, Why was life 
given me — what am I going to do with it?’* 

They were the inspiring voices that called to her 
imagination to try its wings, and bade ambition put 
on its armor. Then it was she saw all nature 
through rosy-tinted glasses. She built castles in 
the air of such dimensions and magnificence that 
their gilded minarets pierced the very dome of 
heaven itself. She pictured herself triumphant 
from the top of Parnassus, sufficient in her strength 
to bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the 
bands of Orion. 

Alas! how many million glorious achievements 
have been born and died in the mind-world ; never 
heard of in the material, with now not even a slab 
in memory’s graveyard ! 


WINONA. 


79 


Now and then would come to Winona a stretch 
of quiet, even monotonous days. Such days have 
their intrinsic value in the formation of character. 
They frequently lead to a rigid self-examination ; 
then comes the reaction of stronger determination 
and more powerful efforts. At such times she had 
a feeling of merely going along ; growing older, that 
was all. From this torpid state she would soon 
rally. 

** To live was such a joy! Oh, how hard it 
would be to die and leave this beautiful world,’' she 
would say, as a funeral train passed by. 

Little she dreamed that if the corpse, borne 
along in the black-plumed hearse, could rise up un- 
der its mantle of white flowers with haggard face, 
would say feelingly: Do not pity me, oh, child of 
youth ! I would not change places with you ! ” 
then drop back into its narrow bed, free from care 
and pain, for a restful sleep. 

Every passing zephyr whispered to Winona of 
love — every floating cloud was a beautiful pano- 
rama — every rippling brook a happy song — every 
flower a lovely thought, and all nature one sublime 
poem to her romantic nature. Enthusiasm pulsed 
through every vein of her body, and she was full of 
feeling to the finger tips. 

“ I know Winona Hardeman was always bright, 
but I never thought she would become so dignified. 
As a child she was so boisterous and full of mis- 
chief, she was sometimes a terror to the prim 


8o 


mAroATA. 


* goody-goody * girls at school. She is very attrac- 
tive — so talented, and, somehow, everybody likes 
her.’’ 

These were common sentiments, frequently heard 
expressed by the world. 

Like a Texas Norther to a June rose, came Wino- 
na’s first real blow of sorrow. 

Grandpa’s friends stood around with serious 
faces. The servants were hurrying hither and 
thither in distressed confusion. Agonizing cries 
greeted her as she came in from Aunt Sallie’s one 
morning. She recognized grandma’s voice. 

“What is the matter?” she said, turning white, 
and almost staggering to her grandpa’s room, a ter- 
rible fear seizing her. No one had the courage to 
answer, but turned away to hide their tears. Not a 
word escaped her lips, but, oh, such a scream she 
uttered as she fell across the dead body of her 
grandpa. That scream reverberated through the 
innermost recesses of her soul, and waked, for the 
first time, a deep vein of seriousness she nor the 
world did not know she possessed. Her nature 
was like a puzzle card that must be held up to a 
certain light in order to see the hidden letters. 

When the oil of grandpa’s life was absorbed and 
the lamp went out, shadows crept in many places. 
The dear old home was sold, for there was no will, 
and the property had to be divided. Grandma 
went to live in the country with Aunt Sallie. Wi- 
nona’s brother George wrote that she must come 




rT»vriTiT*T»TTi»iTry>nT»Tn*TTTTTfTf7< i t i r wM r imiiiinii a 


WINONA, 


8l 


to Nashville and live with him, for he was married 
now and had a sweet home. Then, she could 
better finish there the last year of her school-days. 

The few days before leaving her native state 
were spent with grandma and Aunt Sallie in the 
country. 

‘‘ Law, Missus ! Lemme tell ye all someumph ! 
said Cindy, running in excitedly. Ole Rag Jake 
am come back arter dese many years. He's out t' 
de back do' right now — come a sneakin' up, jest 
lak he uster do. He minds me o' a black snake 
a crawlin' long, and, missus, he says he wants fur to 
see you ! " 

Grandma dropped her knitting with a suppressed 
Oh ! " tangling the thread in her trembling fingers. 
Aunt Sallie's countenance was ashy pale, Winona, 
too, felt a little nervous at her faint remembrance of 
him as a child ; but she couldn't understand why 
his presence should so affect grandma and Aunt 
Sailie. He wasn't very prepossessing, it was true, 
but she had never heard of his doing any harm. 

Cindy had scarcely finished speaking, when he 
came in deliberately and sat down in their midst. 
Not a word was exchanged. 

'' Cindy, " said Aunt Sallie at last, trying to appear 
calm, go out and shut the door and see that no 
one listens." 

Cindy did as she was directed, leaving the three 
together, shut up in the house. It was fully an hour 
before Rag Jake came out. He slammed the door 


82 


mNONA, 


after him. Turk was lying on the front piazza wag- 
ging his tail in friendly greeting. Old Jake gave him 
such a severe kick in the side, as he passed, that the 
dog yelped piteously. Winona saw the cowardly 
act through the window. She ran out ; threw her 
arms about Turk’s neck and put her cheek against 
his shaggy head, pouring out tender, pitying words 
to him. What a wealth of affection she had! yet 
through her whole life, how few there were who 
knew it. Always courteous, kind, sympathetic, but 
her love was reserved. From that day when old 
Jake went out in a fury, Winona’s expression 
changed. Like an evil apparition he came and 
went. The nature of his sudden visit was kept 
within the four walls of Aunt Sallie’s room. Cindy 
dared ask no questions, but she looked very serious 
at times, as she scrubbed away over the wash-tub, 
muttering inaudibly to herself. Old Jake’s name 
was never mentioned in the family circle. 


CHAPTER VII. 


What a pretty wife you have, Brother George.’' 

“Yes, Winona, she is a fine woman, and I want 
you and Celia to be sisters indeed. I love and am 
proud of both of you. By the way, I must tell you 
what a pleasant compliment I heard paid you this 
morning. Professor Lane was passing here and 
heard you playing. Said he stopped to listen and 
wondered who it could be. I told him it was my 
sister, who had come to live with us. ^ Well, you 
should give her every advantage, ’ he replied, ‘ for 
hers is a remarkably sweet touch. There’s a won- 
derful amount of feeling in her music.’ You see 
I tell you this, not to make you vain, but to encour- 
age you.” 

“Thank you,” said Winona, smiling the same old 
smile every one does when made happy by approval. 
“ I am very fond of my music — there is something 
satisfying in it that I have never found in people or 
indeed anything else. Yet, I realize that I never 
can be a musician. It is one thing to sit down and 
play by ear, as I always play, a plaintive air that 
brings tears to the eyes, and another to understand 
the science of music. Of course Itould never be a 


84 


WINONA, 


real musician unless I did master the scientific part. 
I could never do that. I haven^t the patience nor 
disposition. I dislike it, just as I dislike arithmetic, 
algebra, and such prosy things. I took lessons for 
a short time once, and found the different keys, 
the major and minor scales, and all the abbreviated 
technicalities, just as stupid and confusing as to 
work out difficult problems. I was as bored as 
in finding the imaginary values of the unknown 
quantity once. My teacher asked me, ^ when will 
the values of X in problem number so and so, be 
imaginary.^’ Had it not been disrespectful to her 
as well as the science, I should have replied — they 
have been so since its beginning. I was as tired as 
when puzzling over Compound Proportion ’’ to find 
when the hands of a clock are together between the 
hours of ten and eleven.’' 

But you must admit that this menial labor, as it 
were, has very gratifying and useful results, ” argued 
her brother George, becoming interested. 

‘‘Oh, yes; if there is any result except failure, 
and I suppose even that has its place in life. But I 
have noticed that the majority of children are put to 
the piano before their feet can reach the pedal, or 
their fingers stretch an octave. They are kept there 
thjjmping by the hour, for years. A whack across- 
the knuckles with a pointer informs them, that 
restlessly sighing and twisting on the stool, will not 
gain their liberty. No; they must practice ! prac- 
tice ! a thing for which they have no talent, and at 


WINONA. 


85 


the end of ten years, when asked to play, * beg to be 
excused — they can’t play without their notes.’ 
Even if they had them, it would mean a mechanical, 
stammering effort after all their tedious hours of 
work, the tears they had shed over scoldings, and 
the dollars they had given the teacher. As for 
algebra; I don’t see why a woman should bother 
her brain with that, unless she wants to be an old 
maid schoolmistress, and teach it to some one else. 
A woman will learn all she needs to know of addi- 
tion — subtraction and multiplication, by spending 
money, and without the assistance of an arith- 
metic.” 

George Hardeman looked at his sister thought- 
fully, and smiled. He had been separated from her 
so long, that he didn’t know just what disposition 
or ideas she had developed. 

“Then you believe in letting children follow their 
own inclinations as regards education,” he went on 
in order to draw her out. 

“ No, not that. I do not mean to be extreme. 
If I had the brain and the time, I should try to know 
enough of every scientific branch to save me from 
ignorance, at least. Since grandpa’s death, I have 
thought a great deal about the shortness of life, and 
how little one can accomplish towards mastering all 
of these mighty things. For that reason, one’s dis- 
position and talent should be analyzed, just as a 
physician would diagnose the case of a patient in 
order to see on what line they would be most sue- 


86 


mNONA, 


cessful, and pursue it. A switching engine makes 
slow progress you know. One that is on the right 
track stops for a moment at all important stations 
along its line ; yet, keeps the one thought of a decid- 
ed point of destination ahead. If one loves music 
and has real talent, they will seek the piano as natur- 
ally as a morning glory opens to drink in the sun. 

And if another delights in triangles, right-angles, 
or the problems and relations of X, Y and Z to each 
other, their necks will accordingly, grow stringy ; 
their mouths prim and their bodies angular. There 
is so much, you know, in association and environ- 
ment, and mathematics is so utterly devoid of 
poetry.’' 

As Winona talked, she sat in a comfortable chair, 
her head resting against its pretty tidy, and turning 
abstractedly the leaves of a book she held in her lap. 
She had grown to be tall and slender, and carried 
herself with a supple grace. She was strikingly 
pale, with scarlet lips that parted over even white 
teeth. Her brow was crowned with a wealth of 
wavy brown hair. Her eyes were large and gray, 
with decided black brows and long heavy lashes ; 
their expression varied with every passing thought. 
Sometimes they danced with enthusiasm, the next 
moment they were as wistful as a fawn’s. The per- 
ceptible scar at her temple was not so disfiguring as 
had been feared in her childhood. Her brother 
thought her beautiful, as she reclined there under 
the mellow light of a student’s lamp. 


WINONA. 


87 


‘‘ Brother/* said Winona suddenly, closing the 
book in her lap and sitting erect, ‘‘ I hope I am not 
going to be a great disappointment to you.** 

George Hardeman took the cigar from his mouth 
that he had been leisurely enjoying. Disap- 
pointed,** he repeated, with a rising inflection, not 
comprehending the meaning of her words. 

‘‘ I mean, I hope you won*t expect me ever to 
read a valedictory and wear a gold medal, with “ First 
Honor ** engraved on it. I can never do it. I don*t 
know that I care to. You look surprised. Well, 
each of us stand on a different hill-top in life, con- 
sequently, our perspectives vary. My view of the 
subject is this: A bookworm doesn’t get the healthy 
nutrition out of dry paper and unpalatable printers* 
ink, that the lady bug does from a green lettuce leaf 
growing in a garden. Books at times, are most agree- 
able and profitable companions ; but, when one pores 
over them constantly, they dwarf both their physical 
and mental natures. I think it is right and proper 
that we should pay deference to superior minds, but 
one should not at the same time, concede their orig- 
inality to the thoughts of others. Self-reliance con- 
tains a strong virtue. The girl who took the first 
honor in my class last year, is an illustration of what 
I say. A thin, sallow, delicate creature, with round 
shoulders and sunken chest. She studied from morn- 
ing till night, and frequently half of the night. Her 
lessons were accurately prepared, repeating them 
word for word, as in the book. She always selected 


88 


WINONA, 


such subjects for composition as the life of some 
dead man, or the origin of paper. She gathered all 
the facts concerning her topic from history and pre- 
sented them to you in a most prosy style. Yet, 
their correctness could not be disputed, and a satis- 
fying lOO,’' marked with a red pencil, crowned her 
studied effort. Had she been given the subject 
‘‘ Ocean Depths,” she would have been drowned at 
her first dive for want of strength to get to the top ; 
or, had it been “ Eve's First Day in Paradise,” she 
would have been hopelessly lost in the wilderness by 
sunrise. The little dots and lines on a geographi- 
cal map meant to her the unadorned fact, that one 
indicated a city, another a river and another a moun- 
tain. Had she possessed an imagination, she would 
have seen rows of buildings, busy streets, floating 
vessels, and picturesque scenery. She would trans- 
late line after line of Homer's Iliad, without a gram- 
matical error, yet never once feel the spirit and 
genius of the grand old poet. To her. Astronomy 
meant a calculation of distances and revolutions. 
While she bent over puzzling figures, with contracted 
brow, I sat erect with a smile, on the glittering char- 
iot of Arcturus, and rode through the starry vault, 
visiting the inhabitants of those distant worlds with 
which my mind had peopled them. Oh, brother, 
there is such a pleasure in idealizing ! I realize in it 
a happy gift, and am so grateful. Were I a poor 
Cinderella, shivering over dying embers, I could, 
with that gift, feel for a time like Monte Cristo 


WINONA, 


89 


when he said, with uplifted gesture : ‘‘ The world 
is mine ! A purely practical mind would say, 
“ such thoughts go up like rockets, but come down 
sticks.’' Yes, and that same one will stoop to pick 
up those sticks for fuel to warm himself, or light to 
see. Had la thorough knowledge of only two 
books, the Bible and Shakespeare — then — ” 

“ George, have you decided to sleep down-stairs 
to-night?” interrupted Celia, impatiently, rapping 
on the door, and entering at the same time. 

‘‘ Oh, I beg your pardon. Sister Celia, for keeping 
brother so long. We were talking, and I did not 
realize how fast the time was going,” replied 
Winona, apologetically. 

It is true you kept me, but I was very willing to 
stay,” good-naturedly retorted George. 

Celia busied herself locking the windows and pull- 
ing down the shades. Her only reply was “ Good- 
night,” as she went out with her husband. 

The next day Winona was initiated in her new 
school. 

How do you like the new girl ? ” was the 
general question among her classmates a few days 
later. 

I don’t think she is pretty, but her manners are 
very attractive,” answered one. 

“Well, I think she is pretty — has an unusual face. 
It doesn’t keep you wondering who it is she re- 
minds you of all the time,” opposed another. 

“ Well, she is too indifferent to suit me — attends 


90 


mATOATA. 


to her own affairs all the time, as if no one else had 
any. She’ll be called “ stuck-up,” you see if she 
don’t,” was the decided opinion of a third. 

“Girls, she is lovely! I live very near her 
Brother George, and walk to school with her every 
morning. I don’t imagine she is a girl that would 
ever become very confidential in friendship, but 
she is pleasant, chatty and certainly bright,” was an 
enthusiastic remark. 

And so the beginning of her last school term 
commenced. She affiliated pleasantly with all of 
the girls in their plans, but became intimate with 
none. If, in her heart, she didn’t approve, she 
managed with such tact as never to offend. Her 
friends soon learned that they could approach her 
“just so far and no further.” Her quiet dignity of 
manner created a mysterious atmosphere, which 
held for her always respect and admiration. 

How many people lose what they would gain by 
intimacy and satiating familiarity! Aside from be- 
ing taught, Winona, from impulse of nature, kept 
her own counsel. Never having had confidential 
friends as a child, now that she was grown up she 
didn’t care for them. Yet she entered with en- 
thusiasm into all social pleasures, making an agree- 
able impression wherever she went. She thought 
and talked of things, rather than about people and 
their affairs. 

One day after dinner, Winona and Celia sat pleas- 
antly chatting when George came in, sat down on 


mNON-A, 


9 ^ 


the sofa by Winona, put his arm around her, and 
now and then patted her cheek in a caressing way. 
Celia picked up a piece of fancy work and began 
vigorously to work. 

‘‘ It is a glorious afternoon,’’ remarked George, 
after a few moments. “ Let’s go driving, Celia.” 

‘‘ I don’t care anything about it,” replied his wife, 
rather sullenly, while stitching away. 

‘‘Why not? Are you feeling bad?” questioned 
George, with something of a surprised expression. 

“ No ; I just don’t care to go.” 

“ Sister Celia, I would go,” remarked Winona, in 
a quiet, persuasive tone. You will enjoy the coun- 
try and fresh air so much.” 

“ I am not going,” was Celia’s short, decisive 
answer, as she raised her eyes from the fancy work 
and looked straight at Winona. 

There was a moment’s awkward silence. 

“You can go with him,” at last she went on, still 
addressing Winona. 

Winona looked confused for a second, and swal- 
lowed, to dispel the slight choking sensation in her 
throat. 

“ What a pretty horse Dick is, and he has such 
an easy gait,” she answered with tact, in a cheerful 
tone. 

George rose, and said pleasantly as he went out, 
“ Celia, I’ll drive around about five o’clock ; if you 
feel like going, all right — if not, then I’ll take Wi- 
nona.” 


92 


WINON’A. 


An hour later Winona was sitting in her room 
alone. Her eyes were tear-stained, and she 
looked out of the window with a wistful expres- 
sion. 

If grandpa were only here I would go to him, 
and rest my head on his shoulder as I used to do 
when unhappy.*' 

With that thought her tears came faster. But 
when she saw Celia go out of the gate she got up 
and bathed her face, for she knew her brother would 
be coming and she would not have him suspect. 
As George drove up she greeted him with a smile. 

‘‘ Where is Celia ? " he said. 

“ I do not know. Brother George ; I only saw 
her go out of the gate." 

‘‘ Well, get your hat and come on," he answered, 
thrusting his hands deep in his pockets with a 
troubled air. 

They drove several blocks ; Winona chatting 
pleasantly about this and that, but George paid no 
attention to her remarks. 

‘‘I don't understand Celia lately," he said, 
abruptly. She always was a nervous tempera- 
ment, and I never argue with her for fear of irrita- 
ting her. If she gets provoked with me, I just go 
on and don't notice it ; in a short time she is as 
agreeable as if nothing had happened. She has a 
good heart and noble principles, but lately she is 
unlike herself. I can do nothing that pleases her, 
and she will constantly pout and cry, making life 


WINONA, 93 

utterly disagreeable. I was sorry she spoke to you 
as she did to-day.’' 

Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Brother George, perhaps 
she isn’t well. You know a woman is not constitu- 
ted like a man — they are not always responsible for 
their moods, having such sensitive nerves. Oh, 
there is Miss Grace, our vocal teacher. She is get- 
ting up the cantata of the Seasons, and I’m to be 
Summer. She insists that I can sing the part. 
How I wish that I had a grand voice. I had rather 
have it than any other gift. Silver-tongued oratory 
can rouse men from a state of lethargy to one of 
vaulting ambition. Paintings and statuary can 
make them stand in their presence with uncovered 
head — speechless ! but music fills their souls with an 
unspeakable^ something that makes them feel as if 
they could fall upon their knees and cry aloud — 
yes, it makes them pray ! ” 

“ By the way, Winona, you were speaking once of 
one’s analyzing themselves in order to find out for 
what they are best fitted. Have you given much 
thought to your own case ? ” 

“Yes, Brother George, I have given much more 
thought than action. Society has restricted woman 
to one calling — motherhood. The married ones are 
quartered in their tents, and sit looking out with 
varied expressions upon the field where march the 
phalanxes of the single. Amidst all that marshalled 
array there is but one banner held aloft. It bears 
the simple inscription, ‘ Matrimony.’ As the sun 


94 


W/NONA. 


lights its white satin sheen and golden tinsel, thou- 
sands with happy faces look up to it as if it were a 
heathen god, to follow whom would lead them into 
the delights of Beulah-land. Many there keep in 
the line of march, because it is human nature to fol- 
low the crowd, and others, with serious expressions, 
are there, because they think it best to be there, 
leaving, alas, only a part whose hearts directed 
them there. Should one lose step or drop out, for 
this reason or that, to pursue their own course, they 
are dubbed ' old maids,’ or ' cranks,’ and denied 
the deference paid their more conventional sisters. 
Now, were that army composed of men, it would 
appear like a great fete day, or grand trades dis- 
play, so numerous and varied would be their ban- 
ners. So, you see, there isn’t much use of a 
woman’s bothering herself about the matter. It 
has been decided for her. Now, whether she will 
always submissively accept the position assigned 
her, or openly rebel against the narrowness of her 
sphere (she has done so long ago secretly in her 
heart), is a question the future will decide. As for 
myself, I realize that I will soon graduate, and be a 
woman in the full acceptation of the word. Of 
course, I shall do, in general, as every other woman. 
I have no desire to be called eccentric, but I shall 
never allow myself to be specialized so long as I 
can sustain my individuality. As for marrying, I 
do not say I will or won’t. My association with 
men has been very limited, and, as yet, I have never 


WINONA. 


95 


seen one that I would be willing to have sit oppo- 
site me at the table three times a day for three hun- 
dred and sixty-five days out of a year through life. 
My nature doesn’t flourish on monotony.” 

George Hardeman turned and looked scrutini- 
zingly at his sister. The reins lay slackened over 
the dashboard ; the horse walked leisurely along 
with his head down, and the wheels of the buggy 
creaked for the want of grease as they rolled 
through the stiff mud on the country road. 

‘‘ Winona,” said George, after a moment’s silence, 
‘‘you have seen nothing of the world ; who put 
such ideas in your head?” 

“ They were not ‘ put,’ Brother George, they 
grew. If ideas could be obtained by inoculation, I 
would lay my head on the operating table the first 
opportunity.” Here a playful smile lighted her 
face. “A tree out in a lone forest is in the world, 
but not of it. A passing breeze drops a tiny, mys- 
terious germ upon its bark, and soon a curious 
plant and flower is grown, called an orchid. I 
guess my ideas are orchids.” She laughed a merry 
little laugh, and took the lines from her brother’s 
hand, “ Let me drive awhile,” she said, tapping the 
horse, and making him start off with a jerk. “ Dear 
me, how late it is ! The sun has gone down. Celia 
will think something has happened.” 

As they reached home the lamplighter was hurry- 
ing down the street, leaving spots of yellow light 
behind him. Celia didn’t appear at tea that even- 


96 


WINONA. 


ing. She sent word that she had a headache and 
had retired. 

How many different moods and ailments are 
palmed off on credulity as a '' headache ! The 
home circle for several days after wore a sombre ex- 
pression. What a large shadow so small a thing as 
one person can cast sometimes. 

“Well, it is decided,’’ said Winona with a smile, 
coming in from school one day, and flourishing her 
monthly report. 

Celia looked at her across the dinner table think- 
ing — “ what is she up to now ?” 

“ What is decided,” said George, putting down 
his knife and fork, and looking at her re- 
port. 

“Why, I’m to have a real calling! My drawing 
teacher, my report and I — a committee of three — 
met to-day and decided that I’m to be an artist. 
Not one who daubs in colors ; it takes true genius 
to do that successfully, but I’m going to be an 
illustrator. I have always been so fond of sketch- 
ing and have been at it since I had my first slate and 
pencil. I was sitting, just making parallel lines in 
an absent minded way, the other day, when my 
teacher came up and looked over my shoulder. I 
was embarrassed to think he should catch me idling, 
and in my confusion, started to crumple the 
paper on which I was drawing for the trash 
basket. 

“ ' Don’t ! let me see that,’ he said. ‘ I wasn’t 


WINONA. 


97 


drawing — I was only making straight lines/* I an- 
swered apologetically. ‘Yes, but you need not be 
ashamed of them ; they have fine values. Were 
you making the shadows — say on a wall ; they are 
the exact strokes you would use. You have much 
talent, Miss Hardeman,’ he said with emphasis; 
then, went on to the next girl, leaving my heart 
bounding with pride, and enthusiasm. To-day, 
when my report came with “ Drawing — lOO,” I just 
made up my mind that some day I would be an ex- 
pert at illustrating.” 

“Well, what good will it do you, if you are?” re- 
marked Celia in a discouraging tone. 

“ Why, Sister Celia, it will do a great deal of good. 
In the first place, I believe in healthy occupation as 
a great remedy for social evils. Secondly, we are all 
put here with faculties to live — not merely to exist. 
When I graduate, my time must be consumed in 
some way. Society has its advantages and domestic 
life its values, but to live alone in the former would 
mean retrogration into trivialities, which would 
never satisfy the longings of my nature. To live en- 
tirely in the domestic, would mean to be a drudge, 
without a single ennobling aspiration. You re- 
member Hood’s “Song of the Shirt” — “stitch — 
stitch — stitch, with fingers weary, and worn.** If by 
my intellect and talent, I can save myself from 
either extreme, and make a position of happy me- 
dium, I will not only be doing good for myself, but 
for all with whom I come in contact. Happy peo- 


98 


WINONA, 


pie, I think, are like ‘things of beauty that are joys"^ 
forever/ 

“ Well, I don’t believe in pampering girls in any 
such high flown ideas. Women were made to 
marry, and settle down ; that is the avocation God 
gave them.” 

“ Yes, Sister Celia ; and it is most high and sacred. 
To be a married woman means more than being able 
to cut and make a garment in order to save a few 
dollars for economy’s sake. I should want to be 
worthy of the highest commendation as a mother, 
as well as the doubtful compliment — “wife, your 
biscuits are equal to the cook’s.” To bring a human 
soul into the world is, oh, such a responsibility! It 
seems to me a mother should have comprehended 
much before she dares to plant in the garden of hu- 
man nature, a flower, which if not rightly cultivated, 
will run riot like a noxious weed. I believe a child’s 
right early training shapes its final happy destiny, 
even though dark middle ages sometimes intervene. 
I’ve never known a mother, but that simple little 
prayer, “ Now I lay me down to sleep,” I learned at 
Aunt Sallie’s knee, tied to the anchor of my inno- 
cent childhood, will be a silver line running through 
all my life, to be broken only, I hope, at the Golden 
Gate.” 

“Well, I can’t answer your argument, in such 
flowery language, but all I know is, my convictions 
are common sensed' replied Celia, forcing a smile to 
mitigate her insinuating tone. 


WINONA. 


99 


George had listened attentively to their conver- 
sation, casting admiring glances at Winona. He 
ventured a remark at the close. 

“ Well, there's no harm, at least, Winona, in your 
trying your hand at art, and I am willing to help you 
all I can." 

Dessert was taken in rather an awkward silence. 
Celia didn’t wait for coffee, but excused herself, 
stepping on the tail of the pet cat, as she went out. 
She didn’t stop to make any apology to Grimalkin, 
but shut the door with a '‘bang’’ that made the 
china rattle. 

And so the days rapidly passed. The same pro- 
gramme, consisting of Celia’s moods, George’s 
worry and Winona’s tears, made tolerable by an 
interspersion of recreation and social life, was fre- 
quently repeated. In Winona’s times of depression, 
she would invariably go around the corner to see 
Miss Jean Lowe, for consolation ; the only confi- 
dential friend she ever had. Miss Jean was five 
years Winona’s senior in age, and many in experi- 
ence. She had travelled extensively ; was very culti- 
vated, and spiritual in nature. There was in both an 
affinity that appealed to each other and soon united 
them in a strong friendship. Miss Jean regarded 
Winona somewhat as a prodigy. “ Poor dear child !’’ 
^she would say, in her sweet sympathetic way, taking 
Winona’s hand in hers, as she listened to the recital 
of her trials, “ What a rare combination of ele- 
ment you are ! With your nature, I fear you will 


100 


WINONA. 


have to suffer much before you reach the strength of 
character you are equal to. God has given you 
great power and refined feeling ; but if you mis- 
direct those forces, it will mean woe. There are 
comparatively few in the world like you ; for that 
reason, you will have to learn to tolerate and make 
the best of trivialities, both in people and things. 
That is going to be very trying. You comprehend 
quickly and broadly. That will create in you all the 
while a restlessness for something more stupen- 
dous. To be happy, you will require to pursue sub- 
jects, as a child pursues the spot where the horizon 
touches the earth — always beyond you. Your incli- 
nations will tend to seeking a congenial path, but 
life will demand of you that you go in the broad 
road of humanity. Ah, my dear, you lack experi- 
ence ! 

‘‘It is its own hard task-master,” said Winona 
half audibly, as if talking to herself. 

“Yes, that is true, and it is paradoxical in its na- 
ture. I wish for you, that you might never have 
experience, in order to retain the happiness of inno- 
cence. Yet by experience, one learns to fortify that 
happiness against the ravages of the world. Tm 
dealing of course, with experience of the world 
alone. It is a lamentable necessity to the perfec- 
tion of character. That is why we do not see more 
well rounded people ; they do not bend like a reed 
under a storm, and straighten up with renewed 
vigor after; but stand weeping willows for life.’* 


WINOATA. 


tot 


Or like sick chickens, with the wings of their 
souls hung down,” put in Winona, brightening up 
with a little laugh, at the comparison. It always 
put her in a good humor to talk with Miss Jean; 
she made her forget herself, and gave her strong 
thoughts instead. 

After days of preparation among both teachers 
and pupils — squabblings over the honors — much 
talk over what they were going to wear, the event- 
ful night of the graduation arrived. Among an ar- 
ray of forty sweet girl graduates, there was none 
quite so attractive in appearance as Winona Harde- 
man. 

‘‘ Who is that pretty girl sitting next to Sue 
Downs,” questioned one in the audience, of her 
neighbor, while stretching her neck to get a good 
look at Winona. 

“ Why, it is that Miss Hardeman you have heard 
so much talk about. 

“Well, she is the prettiest girl on the stage.” 

“ I think so too. You ought to have heard her 
sing in the Cantata of the Seasons. She has one of 
the sweetest voices I ever listened to.” 

“ That Miss Hardeman is a stylish and queenly 
looking girl, isn’t she,” remarked a husband to his 
wife. “Yes, and she is charming. I don’t know 
any girl I admire more,” was her reply, having no 
daughters to arouse her jealousy. 

“ I wish you would look at that Winona Harde- 
man ; she sits up there like she owned everything. 


102 


WINONA. 


Sister says she is a conceited, stuck-up thing, any- 
how/’ 

Did she take one of the honors?” 

“ No, indeed 1 Others don’t put quite the value 
on her brains she does herself, ’ was the spiteful 
comment of one sister, voicing the envious spirit of 
another. 

When Winona stepped forward to read her essay, 
the audience quieted. They gave her the strictest 
attention throughout its reading. When she had 
finished, thundering applause and a great heap of 
flowers were hers. There was one immense basket 
of roses — the loveliest of all, grouped at her feet. A 
card, tied with a bit of blue ribbon, hung at its side. 
Her curiosity refused to be quieted, so she slyly 
turned it with the toe of her slipper, until the light 
fell full upon it, and read — To Miss Winona 
Hardeman, with compliments of Fred Manning.” 

‘‘Who is Fred Manning,” was the thought that 
puzzled her brain during the rest of the exercises. 
She looked at every young man in the audience, to 
make a guess as to which was he. There was to be 
a reception later, and she supposed she would meet 
him. It seemed to her as if the different trustees, 
teachers, and dignitaries, would never get through 
delivering prizes, making flattering speeches, and 
giving boring advice. After thoroughly trying the 
patience of all, the end came. Winona’s friends 
gathered around her, and showered compliments. 

“ Your essay was the gem of the evening,” was 


tVINOi^A. 103 

their theme. George Hardeman took Winona by 
both hands. 

‘‘ Tm proud of my sister/' he said in an under- 
tone, with suppressed feeling. Poor Celia looked 
as if she didn’t know just what to say or how con- 
duct herself. Every one seems so pleased, it won’t 
do for me to be disagreeable , yet, I don’t want her 
to feel that I approve of her;” were some of her 
torturing thoughts. 

Sister,” said her brother, touching her arm to 
attract her attention frdm the basket of roses she 
was greedily smelling : allow me to present, Mr. 
Fred Manning; — my sister. Miss Hardeman, Mr. 
Manning.” Winona blushed that he should have 
caught her showing preference for his flowers, but 
with womanly tact; gracefully chatted away to 
him. 

What a handsome fellow is that Mr. Manning,” 
thought Winona, reviewing the evening, as she 
stood before the mirror, braiding her hair to retire 
that night. I don’t know when I’ve met a gentle- 
man with such charming manners. And so I’m a 
debutant, and am to go into society regularly ; 
what a novel experience. I wonder how I will like 
it just for a change. I guess it will afford a good 
opportunity to study character. To be a belle, I 
will have to learn to be coquettish and fluent in 
small talk; — imagine Winona Hardeman being co- 
quettish! How ridiculous. Small talk makes one 
feel so nonsensical. It is merely an unsatisfactory 


104 


WmONA, 


consumer of one’s time — I believe I had just as soon 
be a wall-flower, and think it away. Of course, I 
shall have to gossip a little, or I will be a rather 
prosy acquisition in my new sphere. No; I will 
never make a society belle,” she decided, as she 
knelt down to say her prayers. 

The long, hot summer days followed. Mr. Man- 
ning became a constant visitor to Winona. She had 
a number of Sunday-afternoon callers, but there were 
no gaieties ; everything was tedious and dull. An 
oasis in the form of an invitation from the Colonel 
and his wife to visit W , came in the midst. Wi- 

nona was delighted. She had heard so much of the 

beauties and pleasures of W , and Mr. Manning 

would come out and spend Sundays, as it was only 
thirty miles from Nashville. She had grown very 
fond of his society. 

The train stopped and the conductor called out : 
‘‘ Cedar Hill.” Winona hurried out. The Colonel 
and his daughter were there to meet her. The sta- 
tion presented a scene of only a few small houses and 
one store. This store contained dry goods, gro- 
ceries, various kinds of merchandise in minute 
quantities ; and, at the same time, served as the 
Post-office. A motley group that generally collected 
at train “ time, stood ” gazing. Two mules tied to a 
hitching rack shied and neighed as the train rolled 
on. A woman wearing a calico dress, and long gold 
‘‘ear-bobs,” ornamented with a bit of red coral, and 
a snuff tooth-brush in her mouth, stood in the store- 


WINONA. 105 

door, holding a half naked, dirty-faced child in her 
arms. 

‘‘ How very English,” remarked Winona, as she 
stepped into the great carriage drawn by two fine 
horses, with the driver sitting high. Those people 
look at me, as if they were wondering what royal 
personage am I, arriving at this hour of the day.” 

The Colonel smiled, and gave his signal to the 
coachman — “all right.” A drive of a few miles 

along a shady country road brought them to W , 

the name of the Colonel’s country-seat. A broad 
green lawn, dotted here by an ornamenting shrub, 
shaded there by a massive oak, sloped up to the 
house. It was a wooden building, colonial in style. 
Following an old custom, at one corner, just below 
the roof was the date of its building. A gilded 
eagle hovering above the numbers, 1799, might have 
been mistaken by one of this latter day, for the 
crest of the Colonel's royal ancestry. At one side 
was a great rose-garden, and just beyond, the 
family burying ground. Back of the house was the 
garden, orchard, and a -number of old slave cabins. 

“ What an ideal spot !” exclaimed Winona, taking 
in its beauties at a glance, as she alighted. “ Indeed, 
if I lived here, I should insist upon being titled 
‘ Lady Winona.’ ” 

Both the Colonel and his daughter enjoyed her 
enthusiasm and look of pleasant surprise. The lat- 
ter was a sweet natured girl and proved an agreeable 
companion to Winona, during her visit. They had 


io6 


tViNONA. 


strolls in the woods together; ate fruit, read a little, 
took long naps, played the piano by fits and starts, 
rode horseback and discussed Mr. Manning. He 
had been out two Sundays in succession. The last 
time he remained a day longer, leaving Winona in a 
curious state. She wandered about in a restless, ab- 
sent minded way, seeming not to take her usual in- 
terest in things, and sought every opportunity to be 
alone. She would take a book ajid saunter to the 
rustic seat under the big oak on the lawn. There, 
she would sit for hours at a time, feigning reading, 
but going over in imagination, her conversations 
with Mr. Manning, when the ColoneFs daughter 
would join her with — What an interesting book 
that must be! Aren't you tired reading?" 

Winona's answer would be constrained and com- 
monplace. She had never known the week-days to 
be so elastic, stretching themselves into almost unen- 
durable lengths. 

Jerry, the coachman, handed her a letter on his 
return from Cedar Hill, one Saturday afternoon. 
On looking at the handwriting and postmark, she 
did not wait to take a hair pin from her brown coil 
and leisurely open the envelope, but hastily tore it 
with her fingers. Her eyes had a devouring expres- 
sion, as she read. A troubled, disappointed look 
suddenly flashed over her face. She bit her upper 
lip meditatively as she slowly re-folded the letter, 
and slipped it back into the envelope. Winona 
didn't don her most becoming dress the next morn- 


mNONA, 


107 


ing. Mr. Manning didn’t come that Sunday. She 
was so relieved when night came ; she had never 
spent such a tedious, torturing day, endeavoring to 
smile and be agreeable. She came to a [sudden 
realization the middle of the following week, that it 
would be an imposition on the Colonel’s generous 
hospitality for her to remain longer, deciding that 
she must go home immediately, but promising to 
come back soon again. His daughter assured her 
of the shortness of her stay, and insisted with the 
others for its prolongation, but with no avail. Go 
she mu5t and did. It seemed to her the train 
stopped at more stations, and remained longer, going 
home, than when coming out. She had thought be- 
fore that Nashville was the ugliest city, topographi- 
cally she had ever seen, but on her return, it seemed 
to have transformed somewhat, during her absence. 
She greeted Celia in a most affectionate manner. 
She had never known her room to appear quite so 
attractive. She was in the best humor possible, 
chatting lively and constantly, and humming tunes, 
as she went about the house. Mr. Manning 
called the next evening, to welcome her home, and 
repeat his regrets at being kept from seeing her at 
W . the Sunday before on account of sickness. 

The summer waned and autumn donned her 
variegated robe. Jean Lowe had been spending 
the summer at the sea-shore. Winona wrote to her 
there, but ere the letter had reached its destination, 
Jean had gone to the mountains and never received 


io8 


WINONA. 


It. Winona waited anxiously for a reply. How she 
did wish Jean was at home, so she could talk with 
her, and tell her her secret. Writing such important 
things was so unsatisfactory. 

George Hardeman wore a grave look as he entered 
the sitting-room one evening that September. Wi- 
nona was playing a sprightly waltz at the piano. 
Celia sat making paper flowers, which a more culti- 
vated taste would have termed common.” 

‘‘ Come here and sit by me, Winona ; I want to 
talk to you,” said George affectionately, holding out 
his hand to her when she had finished playing. 

Winona smiled, but her heart had misgivings, as 
she saw the expression of his face. He held her 
hand in his as he talked. 

‘‘Winona,” he spoke slowly; “ are you sure you 
love Fred Manning?” 

Winona blushed and hesitated. “Yes, brother 
George ; I think I am,” she said at last, while seem- 
ing to inspect th^ figures on the carpet. 

“ How do you know it ? ” 

“ Well, this is how I know it : of all the gentlemen 
I’ve met since I graduated, and the few before, none 
have interested me as Mr. Manning. I enjoyed 
being with the others, yet they were, in a way, 
matters of indifference to me. They were by no 
means necessary to my happiness, even though they 
did add to my pleasure. I would sometimes be 
thinking of Jean, or something else quite as far 
away in the midst of their conversations, catching 


WINONA. 


109 


on to the last words of a remark with a desperation, 
in order to be able to return a sensible repartee. 
Some of them bored me with their common-place 
talk, until I had to resort to counting the ornaments 
on the mantel, in order to keep awake ; or swallow 
choking yawns to save my politeness. With Mr. 
Manning, it has always been different. He has a 
grace and polish of manner that impressed me from 
the first. I think him the handsomest man I ever 
saw. While he isn’t very intellectual, still, he con- 
verses easily on general topics, and quotes poetry 
beautifully. He dresses in the best of taste; his^ 
cravat is never an off color; his cuffs never soiled, 
and his pants never baggy at the knee. I am rest- 
less and anxious when I am away from him, and per- 
fectly contented when he is near me ; even though 
he should sit and read the newspaper without a 
word. As for any other reason for my loving him, 

I know of no better than a woman’s — ' just because.’ ” 

“What do you know of his moral character?” 

“I have never seen the least indication of any 
but the perfect gentleman in him. He never in- 
dulges in vulgar insinuations, as some others I’ve 
heard. He smokes, but I’m sure he doesn’t chew — 

I could tell it if he did.. I could never tolerate a 
man that had that distasteful habit. As for drink, 
I’ve never detected the least odor of it on his 
breath.” 

My dear sister. I’m sorry to tell you that many 
men are like much silver that shines but is not ster- 


IIO 


WINONA. 


ling. Plated ware and solid seem to be almost neck 
and neck these days. Fred Manning’s father is an in- 
timate friend of mine ; and a noble, fine gentleman he 
is too. A son doesn’t always follow a father’s good 
example. We can’t tell into just what Fred will 
develop yet ; he is only twenty-one. I’m afraid 
he’s inclined to extravagance. He is working on a 
small salary, yet is seen at all the places of amuse- 
ments, and entertainments, and keeps up the expen- 
sive accessories of such a life. He will have to put 
aside such things, and attend strictly to business if 
he keeps you up in the style to which you have 
been accustomed. I have never seen him intoxi- 
cated or heard of his doing anything disreputable, 
yet he is known as ^ one of the boys.’ People are 
invariably judged by the company they keep.” 

“ But, brother, suppose he is a bit frivolous now; 
when he is married, he will give all of that up. 
You see he loves me dearly ; he tells me so over and 
over again in such earnestness. He says he has 
never loved anyone before, and vows he never will 
again, should I refuse him. I will exert such a 
good influence over him, that he will not care for 
the world and its wickedness.” 

‘‘Poor child!” said George Hardeman, turning 
his eyes away with a helpless expression. “ Wi- 
nona,” he said, with a tone of regret, after a little 
silence, “ I must admit that I am surprised at this 
step of yours. You are far above the average 
woman— think and reason with depth on most sub- 


WINONA, 


III 


jects ; but in this, you do not seem to realize. I 
would not interfere with your happiness, but I 
think you are acting hastily.'’ He saw the pained 
look his words brought to her face. ‘‘ I do not 
mean to be severe,” he went on ; you have been so 
shielded in your innocence — are so pure-minded 
and charitable, that it is hard for you to compre- 
hend such things rightly. You have spoken to me 
very sensibly on the subject of matrimony hereto- 
fore ; so much so that you caused me to think seri- 
ously. But, like many, happy in the boat of their 
first love, you are sailing on a river whose surface 
now is shining and placid — ignorant of its dark, 
swift undercurrent. Should any one who had 
tested it, tell you of its danger, you would listen 
with doubtful credulity or self-assurance of your 
ability to avoid the rough places. Take my advice, 
Winona ; think seriously about this matter before 
you act.” 

During their conversation Celia had fingered 
away at her paper flowers without a word. She 
was delighted at the prospect of getting rid of 
Winona, in a measure ; then, George would give 
more attention to her. Marrying would level 
Winona’s high-flown ideas, as a kite is drawn in for 
want of sufficient breeze to fly it.” In her heart she 
felt exultant that her common-sense ” doctrine 
she had advanced was being followed ; but not dar- 
ing to commit herself by word, she would wait 
and see how it all turned out first.” She had a 


1 12 


WINONA, 


shrewd way of encouraging Winona towards the 
step when alone with her without directly advising. 
A magician’s hand could not more dexterously 
place a pot at either end of a stage, plant a flower 
in one, the audience to find it mysteriously bloom- 
ing in the other, his seeming, with a smile, never to 
have touched it, than Celia could sow a seed of dis- 
content, yet shirk the responsibility with a tantaliz- 
ing I told you so.” 

Winona was not down to breakfast next morning. 
She was as sensitive to disapproval as is a sensitive 
plant to the touch. Her brother’s talk made her 
sick at heart. Did she love well but not wisely?” 
Was Fred Manning really necessary to her life’s 
happiness^ Would he be all she would desire in a 
husband? Should she try to give him up? How 
hard it would be! Oh, if Jean would only come — 
she saw things so clearly. There were many nomi- 
nal friends to whom she could go and pour out her 
heart. They would listen with an '‘Oh, that’s too 
bad,” but so soon as her back was turned, use her 
sacred story as material for a chain of gossip, each 
link exacting of the next, "not to tell.” These 
were some of the torturing thoughts that filled her 
brain and had kept her restlessly tossing on her bed 
all night. There was a rap at her door — her 
brother entered. 

"What is the matter, Winona? Are you not 
feeling well this morning?” he said, sitting on the 
side of her bed, and again taking her hand in his. 


WINONA. 


II3 

She was unable to answer. Her tightly-strung 
nerves caused her feelings to give way, and she 
burst into tears. George knew what a relief it is 
for a woman to cry sometimes. She would feel 
better after. He waited until she had finished, 
then said in a kindly, cheerful tone: ^‘Winona, I 
have a plan for you. I do not want you to do any- 
thing your heart and judgment refuses to accept, 
but I put this before you for consideration. You 
love your art ; your income is a modest one. If 
you will go north I will give you a year’s training 
at the best art school there ; then if at the end of 
that time, you still find Fred Manning necessary to 
your happiness, I will have no more to say.” 

''Oh, brother George, you are good to me. I 
want to do right, and will try. If you think it best, 
I will go willingly, regardless of my feelings.” 

Celia did not come near all day to see how 
Winona was, or ask if there was anything she could 
do for her comfort. Winona wondered how Celia 
would take her brother’s proposition. That after- 
noon she wrote a brave letter to Mr. Manning 
breaking their engagement, and telling him of her 
intended departure. An hour later she went to 
Celia’s room. "Sewing?” remarked Winona, as she 
entered. Celia made no reply, but treadled the 
machine at a rapid rate. When she had finished 
the long seam and let down the needle with a 
"click,” Winona said: "Sister Celia, what do you 
think of my going north to study art ? ” 


WINONA. 


1 14 

‘‘I have nothing to do with it/' she answered, 
busily engaged taking the basting threads out of 
her work, and without having once turned to notice 
Winona since her entrance into the room. 

It is indeed very generous and good of brother 
George to send me.” 

Celia could control herself no longer. She had, 
heretofore, shown her animosity by actions more 
than words. Wheeling around from the machine 
she rose and confronted Winona. She glared at 
her as an infuriated animal would at its prey. 

‘‘What right have you to accept so much from 
my husband ! I will not allow any woman, even if 
you are his sister, to so usurp my place ! What is his 
is mine! I refuse you assistance! If he gives it, 
then it will mean a separation between us ! I sup- 
pose you desire a higher education in order to fit 
yourself for entertaining Rag Jake some day!” 

Winona turned deathly pale and reeled as if to 
faint, as she abruptly left the room without a word. 
She fell upon her bed, and buried her face in the 
pillow, sobbing aloud as she had never wept before. 
“Oh, what a look! How it dried up my very life- 
blood! She knows then, and used Rag Jake as a 
butcher knife, to carve up my very heart for jeal- 
ousy to feed upon ! Oh, God ! pity her! pity me ! ” 
prayed Winona in her terrified anguish. When she 
had become calmer, her independence began to 
assert itself : “I will stand this no longer! She 
has made my life a torture. I have been intimi- 


WINONA. 


IIS 


dated until I am seldom my natural self in her 
presence. I will no more tremble and crouch, 
like a hunted animal. I am a woman and as such, 
shall sustain my dignity' I will go aw^ay some- 
where — anywhere ! ” 

With her emotions ill-regulated — in a state of 
worry and excitement, Mr. Manning was announced 
that evening. She met him with, a flag of truce. 
It was not accepted. His visit was a volley of 
loving pleadings and desperate threats of suicide, 
hurled at Winona with great agitation. They came 
with such vehemence in her confused state, that she 
w^as unable to cope with them, and an absolute sur- 
render followed. Then came a hastily arranged 
wedding. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Winona had been married just one year. A 
visit from Jean Lowe was her anniversary present. 
Jean had never seen Winona since her engagement, 
having gone abroad for a year after her sojourn in 
the Catskills at the time of Winona’s marriage. 
Winona was sitting at the piano playing Gottschalk’s 
‘‘Last Hope,” her heart chords vibrating in sym- 
pathy with every note of the sad melody. 

“ I wonder if it is love in a cottage,” thought 
Jean, as she took in, at a glance, Winona’s simple 
little home on a back street. She entered the gate 
and walked quickly up the walk bordered with 
blooming chrysanthemums. 

Winona threw her arms about Jean and kissed 
her again and again. She was one of the very few 
to whom she demonstrated her wealth of affection. 
They sat down beside each other on the sofa, hold- 
ing hands, as of old. 

After the usual greetings, Jean said, “‘When the 
cat’s away the mice will play,’ come now, tell me 
all about it.” 

Winona’s face lost its brightness as suddenly as 
a sunbeam dies under the shadow of a dark cloud. 


WINONA. 


II7 


Dear me, Winona, your expression reminds me 
of a hospital. They always have such a sombre 
appearance. I suppose the pain in their bosom is 
so sharp that it cuts through the very stone to the 
surface.” 

Oh, Jean, you have guessed it ! I am sick at 
heart,” said Winona, bursting into tears, and pillow- 
ing her head on Jean’s breast. 

‘‘Poor, dear child,” said Jean, sympathetically, 
smoothing back Winona’s brown locks. “ Winona, 
you know that I love you dearly. You are trying 
to bury your sorrow, keeping a pleasant exterior for 
the world, as a worm is buried in the core of a 
bright red apple. I know your reticence of nature, 
but to me, as truly your friend, you can speak 
freely.” 

“Ah, Jean, it is that experience you once talked 
of to me that I am learning.” 

“Have you been deceived, Winona?” 

“ No, not exactly that — my faith in God and man 
still remains, but I have been sadly disappointed.” 
Winona then minutely related to Jean her court- 
ship and marriage. “ You see,” she went on moral- 
izing, “ I had never been attached to any of the 
opposite sex, save my relatives, and Henry Brown. 
My affection for him was a child’s, and passed away 
with his disappearance from our circle. The days 
following, until my graduation, were filled with 
school duties. I met Fred Manning at the begin- 
ning of a long stretch of quiet summer. The laying 


ii8 


WINONA, 


aside of school ambitions and occupations left me 
in a receptive state for some new experience. I 
had read of love and believed in it as a blissful state 
that would some day, in the distant future, come to 
me. I listened to many married people, with cyni- 
cal ideas, and wondered how they could have made 
such serious mistakes in their selections. I had in 
my mind an ideal lover, whom I believed would 
materialize at the proper time. When I met Fred, 
I thought him almost like my ideal. There were 
only a few things wanting, but my infatuation 
would not admit them real deficiencies. Any 
woman is pleased and flattered by the attentions of 
a man she admires. If she has met no other whom 
she admires more, his constant sweet speeches and 
gallantry will awaken in her a deeper feeling, that 
she believes, at the time, will last. I have found 
that it is woman’s nature to love and be loved, just 
as naturally as the sun shines — both are by God’s 
command. I understand now, why there are so 
many indiscreet alliances, and cross old maids. 
If woman could only realize that it is not that 
special man, often, who wakens in them an 
effusion of feeling they mistake for love, but only 
the longing within their own nature for something 
to fill the voids of life, they would stop to reason 
before hastily acting.” 

I see all you are saying, Winona, is focussed 
towards one thing — ” 


mNONA, 1 19 

“A great mistake/' interrupted Winona, sadly, 
** and I have made it ! " 

“ What, then, would you regard as the sum and 
substance of the cause?" 

Ill-regulated emotions^ my inexperience, and Ce- 
lia s jealousy led to them. Oh, Jean, I can forgive 
Celia, but I can never forget ! Out of the night of 
my past that look of jealous hatred she gave me 
will stare at me forever, like the fiery eyes of an in- 
furiated animal in the dark. She’s the compass 
that pointed with decisive finger to the path I was 
to walk. It was, indeed, a gesture full of meaning 
and an act of great responsibility. If only I had 
gone north, I would have soon found that Fred 
Manning was not the man for me. While my heart 
seemed to cling to him, yet, after my brother talked 
with me, I saw very easily the strength of his logic, 
and questions of doubt arose in my mind. If I had 
really loved Fred judiciously there would have been 
no questionings within myself. Ah, had I had a 
strong, loving mother’s hand to have directed me, 
all would have been different — if you had only been 
here, Jean. Poor brother George became helpless, 
standing between two fires, as it were." 

“ Well, Winona, since there is no backward track 
— no returning, there is but this left to do : suffer, 
conquer. I see you are straining your eyes looking 
down on your husband instead of looking up to 
him. In other words, you have ‘comprehended/ 
Fred. You should have, with your disposition, 


120 


WINONA, 


married a man in whom each day you would have 
made new discoveries in the beauties of a grand 
character. Now, what is it that you find wanting 
in him 

The first few weeks of our married life he was 
all devotion. He never came home without bring- 
ing a little paper sack of fruit or bon-bons. Were I 
a confectioner, or fruit vender, I believe I could 
tell how long a man has been married about as 
accurately as the almanac. Those little attentions 
did not last long. He soon realized that he 
possessed me. That seemed to him sufficient — 
‘why should he court me any longer,' I suppose he 
argued. He would go away to enjoy himself at 
the club or theatre, night after night, leaving me 
alone, expecting to find me awaiting on his return 
with a smile and ready to administer to his wants, 
as any other piece of furniture in the house. I 
tried to sing, play, read aloud, or chat with him, to 
make his evenings pleasant ; but the billiard and 
card table, and the rapid society of the club room 
proved stronger attractions than my modest self. 
How deluded are young girls who believe in a wife's 
influence to make a character for her husband ! 
Where there are exceptions, they only prove the 
general rule. Then he is cruel to me sometimes, 
when intoxicated. Oh, how bitter was my awaken- 
ing! I had pictured it all so different. I found I 
had never loved Fred Manning. I loved what he 
seemed to me to be. I had rather he would strike 


WINONA. 


I2I 


me a blow, as a master does his pet dog in a mo- 
ment of impatience, loving him the next, than to 
always so cruelly neglect me. I understand better 
now the lines and expressions of people’s faces. 
How many of them are married unhappily, but are 
too proud to let the world know it. Tied by the 
law, but divorced in their heaits in the sight of God, 
they are living every day a horrible lie ! God 
hasten the day when there shall be a lessening of 
such a terrible social evil.” 

‘‘You think, then, there is a remedy for it?” 

“ Most assuredly. If it does not prove altogether 
efficacious, it will in a great measure mitigate it. 
As regards the position and sphere of woman, I am 
prophetic. The conventional and conservative men 
and women of to-day would have no patience, and 
show no deference to my broad ideas could they 
hear me speak. Our old school teaches the senti- 
mental ‘lady’ idea of sitting down and holding 
one’s hands. I believe a woman can have strength 
of purpose, without boldness of manner ; then, 
why not make herself independent? From a child 
they should be trained, not to depend upon mar- 
riage as a necessity of life. Teach them, rich or 
poor, to do something, to fill their lives and minds 
with strong thoughts and works. Teach them there 
is something higher than merely making themselves 
‘attractive’ to men, in the social phrase. Teach 
them to school their sensibilities and curb their im- 
pulses. Show them that the mature maiden of 


122 


WINONA, 


twenty-five or thirty summers, with force of char- 
acter and mind, is not really passee as many crude 
circles of society would have them, but just at the 
beginning of her fulness of attractiveness. 

“ Show them how each year’s experience and in- 
crease of knowledge is to such a one an additional 
charm, placing her upon a pedestal for youth to 
look up to, and relinquishing that royal posi- 
tion only by her free will. Teach them to re- 
gard matrimony as a high, holy calling that will 
come to them through the guidance of Providence 
in due time, without their idly sitting, longing and 
waiting for it. Teach them to be wise matrons; 
then, they will be equal to doing something more 
than merely rocking the cradle — they will make a 
grand man or woman out of the weak, crying babe 
in it. I do not mean for woman to usurp the 
position or engross the various callings of men, but 
give her the right to think and act for herself. 
That she is weaker, physically, than man, is evi- 
dent ; that she is his superior morally, is conceded ; 
that she is not his equal mentally, is doubtful. 
That decision should be reserved until she has had 
the same advantages of higher education and larger 
liberties that men have enjoyed for so many years. 
Then they will be self-sustaining, and when she is 
no longer specialized — no longer made to form 
mere wheels in the social system — allowed to assert 
and sustain her individuality, then will she not re- 
sort to matrimony merely to have a home provided 


mNONA. 


123 


for her, or escape the dreaded appellation ‘ old 
maid/ Her matrimonial unions will be founded on 
a firmer basis of intellectuality, pride, congeniality, 
and with love as the corner stone/' 

I do not just understand your bringing in pride 
at that point, Winona/' 

‘‘ My dear Jean, you have often heard it quoted 
that “ true love is grounded on esteem." I have 
revised it to suit myself into lasting love is 
founded on pride." There is no man or woman 
happy in their marriage, unless they can with pride 
say — this is my wife — this is my husband.'* 

‘‘Yes, I see now. You have put the idea in an 
original and strong light." 

“Jean, away in the eastern horizon, angels of 
dawn have already spread their white wings, herald- 
ing the coming of a new era for woman. I rejoice 
at the prospect. With her progression, man too, 
will be lifted up. His pride alone will nerve him 
to look to his laurels, so that the ‘ weaker sex,' as 
he regards her, does not share them. How my 
ambition causes me to fret and long when I think of 
what I might have been — what I scarcely now can 
hope to be! I remind myself of a maimed horse, 
with mettle in his bones, stabled near the race- 
course. He paws and looks out of his barred win- 
dow, with a piteous neigh, upon the other horses 
that fly around the track with outstretched neck, 
ears laid back and extended tail — on and on to 
glory! He looks beyond to a green pasture, where 


124 


WINONA. 


others dance and toss their rippled manes with a 
free grace. How he longs to go, but his restlessness 
avails nothing. He must make the best of his nar- 
row, lonely quarters, existing upon the hope that 
the door may yet be opened, when he can go 
forth.” 

“I am glad to see, Winona, that you have the 
idea of making the best of your situation. It is a 
wise conclusion.” 

‘Wes, my dear friend, I am trying, and will con- 
tinue, God being my helper. I pray to him so 
earnestly to fill my life with something, anything, to 
take away this aching void. I used to find such joy 
in my music. I love it now more dearly than ever, 
but its minor chords seem to have a deep wound 
buried in their souls, that I never discovered before, 
making my heart to cry in sympathy. If only my 
mocking-bird would sing more cheerful ditties ; but 
I suppose he is imitating me. I love the pathetic 
in song. If only my flowers in the garden would 
bloom faster and more profusely; they are to me 
like people. We have long conversations together 
every morning. Their language is so pure and 
sweet. My affectionate greyhound is always a com- 
forting companion to me ; but my greatest joy is 
visiting a poor widow’s family over the hill yonder 
— she has to work so hard, and has so many little 
ones. I teach the children an hour a day to read. 
They seem to love me so, and make me feel my life 
is not altogether useless. I go in society but little. 


WINONA, 


125 


Fred’s salary is small and I dress very simply. He 
doesn’t seem to know how to manage judiciously. 
He has just paid an extravagant sum for a fine set- 
ter dog, when we are behind in the house rent. By 
the way, Fred is invited to W. next week, to join a 
hunting party, and I’m to go with him. The Colo- 
nel’s oldest son will also have two of his old school- 
chums from West Point with him. I do so enjoy 
W. The Colonel and his family are such cordial, 
hospitable people. They are so cultivated and 
refined, that it isn’t necessary for them to flaunt 
their crest for one to tell they belong to a line of 
nobility.” 

And so the two friends chatted away, until the 
twilight, when Jean hurried away, telling Winona to 
“ keep a brave heart,” and promising to come 
often. 


CHAPTER IX. 


The next week found Winona again at W. The 
cook was kept busy, baking pound-cake, boiling 
ham and baking potato custards for the expected 
visitors. Old Aunt Beckie’s curiosity caused her to 
scorch the shape of the smoothing iron on the front 
of one of the Colonel’s best tucked shirts, as Jerry 
drove up with two strange gentlemen in the car- 
riage. Said she wanted to see if dem Yankees 
looked like dey did endurin’ de war. Winona and 
the Colonel’s daughter stood peeping through the 
parlor blinds as the guests alighted. Then followed 
a general confusing introduction, when each one 
didn’t just catch the name of some other one. 

Who is the young lady in brown ? ” questioned 
one of the strangers. 

Oh, I beg your pardon ; I hadn’t noticed that 
Winona was in the room,” answered the Colonel, 
who turned and saw her sitting modestly in an in- 
conspicuous corner. 

“ Mrs. Manning, allow me the pleasure of present- 
ing Mr. Lawrence De Movil,” he said. 

‘‘ We southerners have a custom of shaking 
hands,” said Winona, extending hers to him, while 


WINONA. 127 

her red lips parted in a becoming smile over her 
white teeth. 

Lawrence De Movil, a man of splendid physique 
and classic features, received Winona’s cordiality 
with grace ; then took a seat beside her. The two 
soon lost sight of the others, absorbed in their con- 
versation. During the evening, Winona sang and 
played. Mr. De Movil was a great lover of music 
and sang also. His voice was sweet and sympa- 
thetic, and accorded well with Winona’s. 

‘‘He is as interesting as his name is attractive. 
Its aristocratic tone is in keeping with his appear- 
ance. Why does Fred appear so insignificant by 
the side of such a man? Oh, it is sinful in me to 
make such a comparison — Fred is my husband. 
Oh, God, forgive me,” said Winona, as she sat on 
the floor, after a habit of hers, slowly unbuttoning 
her shoes to retire that night. 

Through fate and circumstances, Mr. De Movil 
and Winona were frequently thrown together dur- 
ing their visit. One day when the men-folk had 
gone hunting, she took a copy of Matthew Arnold’s 
poems and sat down on the rustic seat, under the 
large oak — her favorite spot. There she sat reading 
for awhile; then, looking away with a sad, medita- 
tive expression, as if something in the contents of 
the book had set her thinking seriously. She wore 
a simple dress of white flannel and a large straw 
hat, with a scarf of pale blue about the crown. 

“ How beautiful she looks! What refinement of 


128 


WINONA. 


feature, and expression of intellect and character! 
What a shame that such a grand woman — for she is 
a grand woman — should be mated with such medi- 
ocrity! She is as far above her husband as the 
heaven is above the earth, and quite as far beyond 
his appreciation. She reminds me of a stately lily ; 
so lovely in nature, while he treats her as if she 
were a disagreeable gourd blossom.’' At this point 
of his soliloquy, Winona raised her eyes from her 
book to see Lawrence De Movil sitting on a step 
at the front gate, intently gazing at her. The color 
rushed to her cheeks. Lawrence saw he was caught 
in the act, and he, too, felt a bit embarrassed. He 
rose, with an effort, and limped towards her. 

^‘Why, have you lamed yourself?” She spoke 
out in a tone of interest, as he came nearer, then 
sat down beside her, dropping his gun and hunting 
bag on the ground. 

Oh, no ; ” he answered, endeavoring to speak 
pleasantly, with an expression of pain ; it's only 
an old sprain of the ankle that is troubling me. It 
comes from having walked too much while out 
hunting. It annoyed me so I had to leave the 
boys and come back. I sat down on the steps 
there to rest, it was paining me so.'' 

Had you not better let me get you some lini- 
ment?'' timidly suggested Winona. 

“ Oh, no, thank you ; it will pass away soon, if I 
sit here quietly. What are you reading? The 
Buried Life,'' he questioned and answered, taking 


WINON'A, 


129 


the volume off the seat, where it was lying, and 
opening it at the book mark. '‘That sounds inter- 
esting. I am not very familiar with Matthew 
Arnold’s writings. What is his style?’' 

“ Well, he isn’t one of the sublime bards of his 
art, but one whose poetry, while more humble, 
gushes from his heart as a pure, crystal stream 
flows from a mountain spring, and cools a thirsty 
soul.” 

The pained expression had left Lawrence De 
Movil’s face — he had forgotten himself. " Would 
you mind reading aloud a selection ? I enjoy so 
much listening — the poem you were reading — I like 
its title.” 

Winona took the book and began reading in a 
low, sweet voice and southern accent : 

“THE BURIED LIFE. 

Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet 
Behold, with tears my eyes are wet; 

I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll. 

Yes, yes, we know that we can jest; 

We know, we know that we can smile; 

But there’s a something in this breast 
To which thy light words bring no rest. 

And thy gay smiles no anodyne. 

Give me thy hand, and hush awhile. 

And turn those limpid eyes on mine. 

And, let me read there, love, thy inmost soul. 

Alas, is even love too weak 
To unlock the heart, and let it speak 
Are even lovers powerless to reveal 
To one another what indeed they feel ? 


130 


WINOA^A. 


I knew the mass of men concealed 

Their thoughts, for fear that if revealed 

They would by other men be met 

With blank indifference, or with blame reproved; 

I knew they lived and moved, 

Tricked in disguises, alien to the rest 
Of men and alien to themselves — and yet, 

The same heart beats in every human breast. 

But we, my love — does a like spell benumb 
Our hearts — our voices ? — must we too be dumb ? 

Ah ! well for us, if even we. 

Even for a moment, can yet free 

Our hearts and have our lips unchained : 

For that which seals them hath been deep ordained. 

Fate which foresaw 

How frivolous a baby man would be. 

By what distractions he would be possessed. 

How he would pour himself in every strife. 

And well nigh change his own identity. 

That it might keep from his capricious play 
His genuine self, and force him to obey, 

Even in his own despite, his being’s law. 

Bade through the deep recesses of our breast 
The unregarded River of our Life, 

Pursue with indiscernible flow its way; 

And that we should not see 
Idle buried stream, and seem to be 
Eddying about in blind uncertainty. 

Though driving on with it eternally. 

But often, in the world’s most crowded streets, 

But often, in the din of strife. 

There rises an unspeakable desire 
After the knowledge of our buried life ; 

A thirst to spend our fire and restless force 
In tracking out our true original course ; 

A longing to inquire 

Into the mystery of this heart that beats 

So wild, so deep, in us ; to know 


WINONA. 


I3I 


Whence cur thoughts come, and where they go. 

And many a man in his own breast then delves, 

But deep enough, alas, none ever mines : 

And we have been on many thousand lines. 

And we have shown on each, talent and power. 

But hardly have we, for one little hour. 

Been on our own line, have we been ourselves ; 

Hardly had skill to utter one of all 
1 he nameless feelings that course through our breast, 

But they course on forever unexpressed. 

And long we try in vain to speak and act 
Our hidden self, and what we say and do 
Is eloquent, is well— but ’tis not true. 

And then we will no more be racked 
With inward striving, and demand 
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour 
Their stupefying power ; 

Ah ! yes, and they benumb ns at our call : 

Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn, 

From the soul’s subterranean depth upborne. 

As from an infinitely distant land. 

Come airs and floating echoes, and convey 
A melancholy unto all our day. 

Only — but this is rare — 

When a beloved hand is laid in ours. 

When, jaded with the rush and glare 
Of the interminable hours. 

Our eyes can in another’s eyes read clear. 

When our world-deafened ear 

Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed, — 

A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast. 

And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again : 

The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, 

And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know; 
A man becomes aware of his life’s flow, 

And hears its winding murmur, and he sees 
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze. 

And there arrives a lull in the hot race 


132 


WINONA. 


Wherein he doth forever chase 
That dying and elusive shadow, Rest ; 

And an air of coolness jjlays upon his face, 
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast. 

And then he thinks he knows 
The Hills where his life rose, 

And the Sea where it goes . . 


Just as Winona finished reading the first autumn 
leaf detached from the branch above her head, and 
wafted itself down upon the page of the open book 
in her hands. A period to mark the end of the 
poem,” she said, with a faint smile. “ What makes 
the leaves turn,” she went on abruptly, without 
waiting for Lawrence to comment on the poetry, 
turning the leaf in her fingers. 

He smiled at her originality, while admiring her 
investigating turn of mind and tact. I believe 
there is an old-fashioned idea,” he replied, ‘‘that 
it is caused by frost, but I was reading an article 
not long since, that said the green matter in the 
tissue of a leaf is composed of two colors — red and 
blue. When the sap ceases to flow in the Fall and 
the natural growth of the tree ceases, oxidation of 
the tissue takes place. Under certain conditions 
the green of the leaf changes to red ; under differ- 
ent conditions, it trikes on a yellow, or brown tint. 
The difference in color is due to the difference in 
combination of the original constituents of the 
green tissue, and to the varying conditions of cli- 
mate, exposure and soil. It is also said that a dry, 


WINOJVA, 


133 


cold climate produces more brilliant foliage than 
one that is damp and warm. Maples and paks have 
the brightest colors.” 

Winona listened to his botanical explanation with 
interest, at the same time leaning forward to watch 
a tiny tragedy of insect life being enacted on a 
blade of grass at her feet. 

‘‘The Autumn is a glorious season in spite of her 
sad eyes,” she said. “ I love the stately fields of 
golden rod ; the gray skirting clouds and the far 
away expression in the shine of the sun.” 

“ While I admire nature, still I don’t think man 
is always so perceptive of the poetry in such things 
as woman, with her refined senses. I must admit I 
like Autumn particularly for the sport it brings. I 
am fond of hunting,” said Lawrence De Movil, giv- 
ing his head a little twist to one side, lending zest 
to his words. 

“ I have always regarded it as cruel in a measure. 
It looks hard to kill such innocent creatures, and 
they always look at you with such a piteous, dying 
expression. I attempted to wring a chicken’s neck 
once, when a child, but as I was vigorously whirling 
it around, a horror of murder, taught me at Sunday- 
school, rushed over me. I screamed for Cindy, my 
black mammy, to come to the rescue, while holding 
the half dead chicken at arm’s length. As she took 
it from me, and with one jerk severed its head, leav- 
ing the body hopping and flopping, with the blood 
dripping from its neck, I ran away and cried for an 


^34 


WINONA, 


hour. Some years after, I survived that shock 
sufficiently to go ’possum hunting, but as our party 
“ treed ” nothing but persimmons, my conscience 
escaped.” 

As Winona talked, Lawrence De Movil regarded 
her intently, thinking: How unlike the studied 

artificial woman of the world he so often met. 
How queenly in her bearing, yet what a natural, 
sweet womanliness in her nature.” 

Winona felt his gaze; her cheeks colored again. 
Color was so becoming to her, and she so seldom 
had it. Lawrence thought her, at that moment, 
the most beautiful woman he had even seen. 

How do you train your dogs to hunt?” she 
said as artlessly as a child. 

Lawrence gave a deep, audible sigh. 

‘‘Does your ankle pain you again?” she said, 
turning suddenly, and looking him in the face. 
What a strange expression, thought Winona, as he 
gazed without seeing, into space. 

“ Oh, yes,” he said suddenly, coming to himself, 
“about training dogs. Well, it can be commenced 
in puppyhood to .an extent. By the time the 
youngster is three or four months old, he can be 
instructed to “come to whistle” and “charge at 
command.” The best way to get a dog under con- 
trol, is to use a check cord attached to his collar. 
The other end is held by the breaker. He lets the 
puppy run at will, then when he blows the whistle 
at the same time twitches the cord. This method, 


IVINOMA, 


I3S 


I think, preferable to the whip, as a dog, is by the 
latter, often made “ whip-shy.” He will soon learn 
to come at whistle. His next lesson is the “ down- 
charge.” In this, his head is placed on the ground 
between the fore-paws and the command ‘‘ charge ” 
given. A raising of the breaker’s right hand will 
soon be all that is necessary instead of using the 
voice, so disturbing to game. Then follows point- 
ing ; backing; dropping to shot, or at wing ; retriev- 
ing, etc., all to be accomplished by patience and 
kindness, studying and treating the dog’s disposi- 
tion much as man’s.” 

“ I see there is art, as well as blood, in the sport,” 
remarked Winona, smiling. 

‘‘Yes, indeed. Then there is the sportsman’s 
music also. To be a successful hunter, one must be 
familiar with the calls of the different game birds, 
and be able to imitate them with telling effect. 
Take the quail — in Summer he is busy with domes- 
tic life, keeping his mate company as she fosters 
their young. At that season, his voice is rich and 
sweet, suggestive of affection. You know his famil- 
iar summer song — “ Bob White.” In the Winter 
you have noticed when the birds are full grown and 
gathered in coveys, the quail has another beautiful 
call ; it is the bugle call, as it were, of the leader, 
sounded to assemble the birds scattered by the 
hunter to a selected rendezvous. I think his winter 
call more metallic than the other.” 

Just then the great dinner bell ran^ out summon- 


136 


WINONA. 


ing Winona and Lawrence to the dining-room. 
That evening the guests were entertained in a novel 
way by the darkies. The latter gathered in the 
back yard. J erry and old U ncle Dick picked on their 
banjos, keeping time with both head and feet, while 
the others would pat and dance. They would 
“shuffle the back step,” “ doce all,” “kick the high 
step,” “ hop light ladies,” “ swing dem partners,” to 
the merriment of all, until dizzy and exhausted. 
By special request, old Uncle Dick sang, while pick- 
ing the accompaniment on his banjo and patting his 
foot : 


BRUDDER RABBIT. 


ri * 

W A 

m. 

w — 

w — 

p 


m. 

. 

it J 

# ^ 1 

y V 















V 

fi 










w 







ley I 

Brudder Ra 

^ 1 

bbit. 

yer looks mighty t 

^ 

;hin.” 









6 rb 


J 

1 



^ P m 



^ Q m 

! ZM 

a 



w d 





► 


“ Yes, bress Gord, I b’eii er skeetin t’rough de win’. 

“ Hey, brudder Rabbit, yer years mighty long.” 

“ Yes, bress Gord, dey’s put on wrong.” 

“ Hey, brudder Rabbit, yer foot’s mighty brown,” 

“ Yes, bress Gord, dey kin kiver ober groun’.” 

After a little rest, squatted ontlie grass, they all to- 
gether, began singing some of their darkey songs. 
The mellow light of a full October moon fell upon 



mNONA, 


137 


them, making a picturesque scene. They sang in a 
weird strain. The autumn leaves wrote upon the 
earth in mystic shadow runes. All nature seemed 
to drowse in dreams. Winona sat looking at the 
night mists that veiled the distant tree tops — the 
moonlight streaming in her face. She knew Law- 
rence De Movil was near her — somehow she could 
feel his presence without seeing him. “ They are 
natural musicians,” she said, still gazing into the 
mists without turning her head. “There’s a strange 
melody in their voices unlike other people’s. Their 
music makes one sad.” 

“ Oh, God! ” Lawrence De Movil whispered feel- 
ingly into the ear of the night — abruptly excused 
himself on account of indisposition, and retired for 
the evening. The next morning he was out early. 
He thought no one would be stirring save the ser- 
vants. As he walked upon the front piazza he 
found Winona sitting there. A simultaneous, 
“ Why ! ” escaped their lips, as their eyes met. 

“You are up early,” said Winona, with affected 
ease. 

“Yes, I had no thought to find anyone else so 
ambitious. I didn’t rest well, and thought an early 
morning walk might relieve my headache. And 
what waked you with the lark?” 

“I like to see the sunrise sometimes. I don’t 
understand why poets expatiate so largely on sun- 
set, and slight sunrise. It affords an equally grand 
theme with its millions of shining and twinkling 


138 


WINONA, 


dewdrops, speaking in golden eloquence to every 
living thing, seeming to say — ‘ awake ! awake ! the 
day is here! ' It is an hour of exhilaration. Even 
to the dead it seems to give encouragement.’' Wi- 
nona turned her head towards the rose-garden and 
pointed her finger to the family burying ground. “ I 
saw the first bright ray kiss that white shaft yonder, 
an affectionate good morning, a moment ago, seem- 
ing to say — ‘ yet a little while.’ ” 

‘‘You have a great soul for glory, Mrs. Manning,” 
said Lawrence, dwelling on the word great, while 
abstractly tapping the toe of his boot with his cane. 

“ Thank you. Did you enjoy the darkies singing 
last night? It’s too bad you had to retire before 
they had finished.” 

“Yes. I was sorry to go. That style of music is 
entirely new to me ; I enjoyed it very much. Speak- 
ing of darkies, Mrs. Manning,” said Lawrence De 
Movil, leaning forward with a tone of interest in his 
voice, “there is a great misunderstanding existing 
between the north and south.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad you have introduced that sub- 
ject, Mr. De Movil, I have wanted to talk of it 
several times, but feared it might be offensive to 
you. I never discuss politics and religion with peo- 
ple of different convictions from myself. They are 
dangerous grounds for fencing; but this time, I am 
glad of the opportunity to speak; but first let me 
hear you.” 

“ Well, perhaps, I should preface my remarks by 


WINOATA, 


^39 


saying, I am a 'Mown yankee ’’ and a "stanch re- 
publican,” using the terms of you southerners ; but 
I do not allow my lieart to dry up like a last year’s 
apple that still clings to a tree, from difference of 
opinion or prejudice. From my association with 
southern boys at school and from reading, not hav- 
ing narrowed myself to the statements and like of 
" Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” as some of my people I regret 
to say, have done, I knew I would find here people 
on equality morally, mentally, but not financially 
since the war, with those of the north ; yet, I must 
admit I am somewhat surprised at the state of 
affairs in some respects. There is a prevalent ide^ 
in the north that the southern white man domineers 
the negro even though he is now free. That, I find 
untrue. I have questioned them, and they tell me 
they vote as they like in politics, and express them- 
selves according to conviction without interference. 
I find he has access to all the avenues of labor and 
progression, the same as the white man. That so- 
cial equality should be denied him, I readily under- 
stand. Until the negro can, through generations of 
inherited culture, claim that position by might of 
right, it should not be expected or tolerated ; even 
then, I believe miscegenation of the two races would 
be improbable, being violative of nature’s laws from 
the beginning. I have visited the negro and studied 
him in his squalid shanty wherever I have stopped in 
the south. They impress me as a shiftless class; 
good-natured ; happy and contented, if they have 


140 


WINONA. 


sufficient corn-bread, fat meat and black molasses for 
a day’s sustenance, with but little thought for the 
morrow. Some of them, I find, with a fair educa- 
tion, but many are so devoid of ambition and 
appreciation they would not accept it if offered. 
What to do, for the best, with them, is a mighty 
problem.” 

“Yes, Mr. De Movil, it is a mighty problem, the 
solving of which involves not only the welfare of 
our sunny south, but this entire, American people. 
This race question is the muddy stream that flows 
between two great factions, alienating their shores, 
which, if united, could be made a unit of Olympian 
power among the nations of the earth. As you say, 
there is a great misunderstanding. Your puritan 
fathers sold to our cavalier sires the first slaves we 
ever had. When they came to us, they were fresh 
from the 'dark continent;’ ignorant, in very truth 
barbaric: yet, that so called dark continent has 
advantages most superior in climate and soil. Time 
has proven that its people lack the disposition and 
ability to improve those natural facilities at their 
hands. I often think they must be direct descend- 
ants of Cain, who was himself, but a simple working 
man — a tiller of the field, when God cursed him, 
and set a mark upon him, for the killing of his 
brother Abel. To-day, the southern negroes, while 
shiftless as a class, are in a much higher state of 
civilization and with a few exceptions, they are not 
so prosperous now, as before the war ; their methods 


WINONA. 


I4I 

of living are evidence of that fact. That is easily 
explained. It is natural to suppose the slave- 
holder would protect the interests of his own prop- 
erty. If they were endowed with executive ability, 
surely they ought to be in a better condition now in 
their freedom. It seems, too, they would now dis- 
like their old masters, if they had been their oppres- 
sors. Go among them to-day, and see how many of 
them still hover about their “ ole marster ” or mis- 
sus,” as chickens nestle under the shadow of the 
mother’s wing, even after they are too large to be 
covered. Ask them why they linger; they will tell 
you love ! ” It pleases the north to call us rebel- 
ious. We do not so consider it, and have no 
apology to offer for defending our rights. The 
negro did not cry out ‘^oppression” and stretch 
their arms to you for help. We did not solicit your 
interference or assistance in managing our affairs; 
you came deliberately and demanded we should act 
in accordance with your convictions. 

“ But, Mrs. Manning, we were doing what we 
believed would be the best for our country at 
large.” 

“Ah, yes, I know your banner bore the legend 
“ in the cause of Right,” and ours waved in the 
cause of “Justice.” Remember, the slave dealers 
of Newport and Boston had sold to our ancestors 
those slaves; you, their descendants, had the pur- 
chase money for them, in your pockets, and then 
demanded we should give them up without recom- 


142 


WINONA. 


pense. That meant to many, they must suffer, and 
all but starve. It wasn’t an inviting prospect. No 
wonder we contended at the point of the bayonet. 
But what is done cannot be undone. It is not for 
us to discuss so much what was, was not, and might 
have been done, or the right and wrong of it, but as 
members of the same government, think of what is 
best for its development and unity. You see we 
have here an incompetent race which was freed pen- 
niless, leaving us, at the same time, depressed in 
many ways. Since they are among us, humanity 
demands we help them. They are a great burden 
and annoyance to the south in their present condi- 
tion. You at the north have no conception of our 
position. You stand on the opposite shore of that 
muddy stream and throw pebbles into it, that start 
circles that widen and break on the shores in waves 
of discontent. Your army fought for the Union. 
In name we have it, but in reality, that stream yet 
divides the north and south. A few narrow canoes, 
with a single oarsman, cross from shore to shore. 
Some of their minds are as narrow as their canoes 
and their hearts as shallow. Their version of affairs 
is false. I make no distinction of section in this 
assertion ; the blame is upon the south as well as 
the north. So long as such dissenters are listened 
to, we cannot hope for more amicable relationships. 
There are some in the north who believe from their 
false reports, that we have here, arms stacked, 
thirsty for blood and ready to fight again at a word. 


WINONA, 


143 


While every southerner feels keenly what he suf- 
fered and lost, tell them when you return, that we 
have not had time to sit down and harbor only mal- 
ice. Our strongest thoughts and energies have been 
turned to melting those arms and moulding them 
into plough-shares and carpenters* tools. Tell them 
to come as you have done, and see for themselves, 
for, only in that way will many believe. They will 
recognize the stupenduousness of this race question. 
They will also realize that, to us, who best under- 
stand the black man, who have been reared with 
him, and with whose interests ours are so closely 
linked, remains its wisest solving, needing in that 
their kind patience and sympathy. Then when that 
stream is bridged over, and not till then, will there 
be in truth, a prosperous United States. There will 
be no north, no south, only in the geographies. 
The shortest road to true national fraternity is for 
the general Government to ‘‘Hands off” this ques- 
tion, or as the French express it, Laissez faire. 
The railroads running into this section are instru- 
ments of great good in this cause. As they increase, 
the faster our hopes for harmony will be realized. 
What a wealth of industries and mining they will 
awaken that now are latent in our glorious south ! 
Their benefits will touch the four points of the com- 
pass. Ah, that word misunderstood! How much 
meaning it contains. Some one has said, and he 
must have been a great man himself, or he could 
not have spoken so feelingly, to be misunderstood, 


144 


WINONA. 


even by those whom one loves, is the cross and 
bitterness of life. It is the secret of that sad and 
melancholy smile on the lips of great men which so 
few understand. God is the great misunderstood ; 
the least comprehended. Then, surely we should 
have patience and courage. But I am keeping you 
from your walk. I see Jerry has finished feeding 
the horses. Breakfast will be ready soon ; I’ll go 
and wake Fred now.’' 

Excusing herself, Winona w^ent in. 

The next day the guests at W took their 

departure. Winona and Fred kept them company 
as far as Nashville. 

Have this seat, Mr. De Movil ; I believe I’ll go 
into the smoking car for a smoke,” said Fred, rising, 
and offering his camp stool on the back platform, to 
Lawrence De Movil, who stood in the car doorway, 
chatting to him and Winona. Lawrence thanked 
Fred and sat down beside Winona. Neither spoke 
for several moments. 

I shall never forget this visit to W ,” at last 

said Lawrence earnestly. 

It has, indeed, been delightful,” lightly replied 
Winona, looking away as she generally did when 
talking to him. Then came another silence, broken 
only by the monotonous rumbling of the car wheels. 

Mrs. Manning, what makes a friend? ” suddenly 
said Lawrence, giving her one of those penetrating 
looks that always made her heart sink. 

“ Why, I suppose it is the result of long acquaint- 


WINONA. 145 

ance, propinquity and intimate knowledge of one 
another,” she said, assuming an indifferent tone. 

“Yes, generally; yet, have you never met one, 
perhaps for a few hours or days, who left an im- 
pression that would remain for years ? ” 

Rarely,” said Winona, glancing uneasily into 
the car, wishing Fred would come. 

I do not mean love, of course,” he added, “ but 
affinity of disposition.” Winona breathed with re- 
lief. “There is such satisfaction in such com- 
panionship. As you say, we meet such ones 
rarely. We may live with people for years, respect- 
ing them, doing many acts of courtesy, yet we ap- 
proach them just so far and no farther. Why the 
reserve in us, we can’t tell. To the rare ones our 
affection is spontaneous ; we may part after our fii^t 
meeting with them, never to see one another again, 
perhaps, but they will remain forever in memory.” 

Here the engine gave a long, loud whistle that in- 
terrupted their conversation. The train was rolling 
into Nashville. When Lawrence spoke again his 
voice was low, rich, and full of sympathy. “ How I 
wish we could choose our friends and keep them 
with us forever! How tiresome to associate con- 
tinually with those who are not congenial to us ! 
Ah, but that is life. Mrs. Manning, I hope sin- 
cerely we have not met for the last time. You are 
to me one of those rare ones of whom we have just 
spoken.” 

“ Thank — ” here the car gave a terrible jerk, cut- 


146 


WINONA. 


ting short Winona’s reply, and almost pitching her 
off the camp stool. Lawrence De Movil grasped 
her hand to support her, and pressed it impulsively 
to his bosom, that rose and fell with deep breaths. 
His touch caused her heart to sink with a strange 
sensation. She withdrew her hand quickly, unable 
to speak. The wind was bathing her face, and she 
caught her breath with a gasp, her hair swept back 
from her beautiful forehead. 

‘^Tell me, won’t you, of what you are thinking ?” 
said Lawrence De Movil in a low tone of pleading, 
that again made the chills creep over Winona. 

The chase of the trees,’* she answered, as if 
speaking more to herself than to him, as she gazed 
at the trees that seemed to move and crowd upon 
eafCh other as the train sped along. 

I must gather up my traps ; we will be at the 
depot in a little while,” she added, endeavoring 
with a desperate effort to be her natural self. As 
Winona turned into the doorway, she heard Law- 
rence repeat to himself the words — “the chase of 
the trees.” 

At the depot there was a general confused and 
hurried “ good-bye.” God bless and keep you ! ” 
Lawrence whispered, as he shook Winona’s hand. 

I have to stop here on business,” said Fred, as 
he passed the club. 

Winona walked home alone, keeping her eyes 
fixed upon the ground and passing many of her 
friends without seeing them. As she reached home 


WINONA. 


147 


and unlocked the front door, a vault-like dark and 
cool greeted her. She went straight to her room 
and fell upon her knees at her bedside. Clasping 
her hands and raising her eyes to the ceiling, she 
prayed aloud: '‘Jehovah, Thou mighty God, who 
art in power seated, hear me, for to Thee I pray. 
Look down, O Lord, from heaven on this Thy 
child, for I am desolate. The troubles of my heart 
overcome me ! Draw me nearer, O Father, that I 
may cast my earth-born cares on Thee — that I may 
be uplifted by Thy Omnipotent Hand. Send Thy 
Holy Spirit, the Comforter, into my heavy soul. 
Guide me — O lead. Kindly Light — ” here Winona 
bowed her head upon her hands, and remained sup- 
plicating in silence for a long while. . . . 

Another year of Winona’s weary, monotonous 
existence had dragged itself away. A little bright- 
eyed stranger from babyland lay in her arms, coo- 
ing and looking up into her loving face. Her 
tender, womanly expression seemed intensified since 
his coming. He awakened in her feelings of 
affection, the depth and fulness of which she had 
never even dreamed of before. A new smile lighted 
her countenance. What a joy and blessing the 
angel of life brought with the tiny one, and placed 
in her bosom ! It filled there a great void that had 
long throbbed and throbbed with pain. Fred 
seemed proud, too, and came home more regularly 
now. Winona hoped so earnestly that the baby 
would prove a strong influence to make Fred do 


148 


WINONA, 


better, for he had been drinking heavily of late. 
Happiness with her smiles seemed to stand before 
Winona for a moment, so near she could almost 
reach out and clasp her hand. Alas, only for a mo- 
ment she stood, then faded, as fades a delusive 
shadow cast by a magic lantern, leaving in its place 
the ghost of a grinning skeleton. It was just a 
year to the day since that ride with Lawrence De 
Movil on the platform of the car. She had never 
seen him since. She only heard through the 
Colonel’s son that he had gone to live in the 
far west. The express brought a package marked 
to Winona, which she opened wonderingly. It 
contained a great nugget of gold in its natural 
state. Here and there a spot was polished on 
which was engraved a tree, the leaves being studded 
with tiny diamonds. There was no card — nothing 
to tell from whom or where it came. But Wino- 
na’s heart whispered the words — Lawrence De 
Movil remembering the chase of the trees,” to her 
buried life. 

I’ll show it to Fred as soon as he comes. 
How lovely ! ” she exclaimed. 

It was midnight. Winona sat by the smoulder- 
ing fire, humming sweet lullabies while nestling her 
darling babe to her breast. Fred entered. She 
made no comment on the lateness of the hour, but 
held up the lump of gold as he opened the door, 
saying cheerfully: ‘‘See, a gold paper weight set 
with diamonds. There was no card to tell tbe 


WINOATA, 


149 


name of the sender; but I imagine it was Mr. Law- 
rence De Movil. I guess it came from his Cali- 
fornia mine we have heard about. Wasn’t it kind 
of him to send it ? ” 

‘‘ Liar ! ” said Fred, fiercely, “ you have been un- 
true to me! You have been secretly corresponding 
with this man, and, no doubt, others. You are a 
living Delilah! Your place is with the dogs. 
Take that ! ” he said, seizing the water pitcher from 
a table near, and hurling it with a madman’s fury 
at Winona, who sat trembling with fright, as she 
recognized after she had spoken that Fred was 
crazy with liquor. The whirling pitcher missed its 
aim, but oh, horrors! struck with a heavy blow the 
head of the innocent slumbering babe in her arms. 
The little sleeper never once opened his eyes. The 
cruel blow interrupted a dream smile that played 
about his cupid-bow mouth. There was a quiver- 
ing of the tiny limbs with an occasional spasmodic 
movement. Winona’s screams were so sharp with 
anguish they cut to Fred’s heart, bringing him to 
himself somewhat. He seemed to realize what he 
had done, for he called on the name of the Lord, as 
he bent over his child with an anxious look. 

Go ! for God’s sake fly for a doctor ! ' cried Wi- 
nona. 

When Fred had gone out, a death-like stillness 
filled the room. The lights ceased their dancing 
and burnt in a steady, serious blaze. Winona’s pit- 
iful moans and prayers were all that broke the mid- 


mATOATA. 


ISO 

night silence, as she hovered over her suffering pet. 
His pulse was weak and irregular. Sometimes all 
sign of life would vanish for a moment. Every 
uncertain rustle of the curtain would cause her to 
start and listen, but it was not Fred or the doctor. 
An hour passed and still no one came. Winona be- 
came almost frantic. She thought of going to 
awaken some of the neighbors, but her darling 
might die alone while she was away. “ Surely,” 
she said, “ Fred realized, and would come back.” At 
last he did come, and brought with him the doctor. 

“ I can do nothing,” said the latter, sadly ; your 
baby is now a cherub, about the Master’s Throne.” 
Then he hurried away to another urgent case. 

“ Oh, don’t tell me hell is a p/ace / No, it is /lere ! 
here ! ! ” groaned Fred in agony, smiting his breast 
with a tortured expression. “ Every man makes 
his own heaven or hell ; I realize now, but alas, too 
late ! too late ! ! Oh, Winona, you are too good and 
pure for a wretch like me ! I see it — I see it ! Ah ! 
how true, ‘ the sins of the father are visited upon 
the children’ — my sweet innocent child! I’ll go 
for your brother George and Jean, now,” Fred said, 
abruptly, almost rushing from the room. Then 
came another stretch of horrible waiting for Wi- 
nona, alone with death. 

It was almost daybreak. Winona heard the hol- 
low sounds of footsteps along the front pavement. 
She ran anxiously to the door to open it, but only 
to be disappointed. She saw by the pale, gray 


WINONA, 


iSr 

light, it was a colored man passing. She called to 
him in her despair and begged him to go for her 
brother George, wondering what could have become 
of Fred. 

When George Hardeman reached his sister, the 
red sun was just rising in the east behind an angry 
cloud, as if nature had waked with a frown of dis- 
pleasure on her brow. The gas jet still burned in 
Winona's room, made sickly by the glare of day. 
The scene that confronted him was heartrending. 
Sitting in a chair Winona held her dead child close 
against her breast without a word. She looked as 
if she had turned to marble, so white and still was 
she. In her eye a single tear welled up from a 
depth known only to those who have lost their first- 
born. But an additional horror was yet in store for 
her. George Hardeman sent someone to hunt for 
Fred. An hour later, he was brought home a 
bloody corpse. 

“ We found him lying at the back door of the 
“ Bonanza Saloon," with a pistol in his hand and a 
bullet through his temple," said one. 

‘‘ Suicide ! ! " shrieked Winona. '' Oh, what a 
curse is liquor! Forgive him. Oh God, for he did 
not know what he was doing ! " she prayed. 

Father and child were put away to their final rest 
in the same grave. A few weeks after the burial, 
Winona again sat by Jean's side; her hand clasped 
in Jean's sympathetic one. 

‘‘Ah, dear Jean," said Winona, with deep lines of 


152 


WINONA, 


care in her sweet face, they say a woman is never 
a woman until her heart is broken — I am a woman 
now ! experience has made me one ! 

'‘Yes, Winona, and to be a woman, you must 
also be brave.’' 

" I have realized that. I am trying to be. Al- 
ready I have undergone more than ever I dreamed 
I could. What miraculous power of endurance has 
woman ! She is indeed the reed that bends under 
the storm, while the strong oak at her side is shat- 
tered. Where there is one woman commits suicide, 
there are three men, or more. Nor do they resort 
as men to tobacco, opium and whisky to beguile 
their hours or drown their sorrows.” 

" What you say is true, Winona. I have often 
thought of it as a strange fact. It seems the case 
should be reversed, since woman is^so much weaker 
physically, and her chief calling in the world invol- 
ving so, much suffering and peril of life.” 

" Speaking of being brave, Jean, reminds me that 
I must be up and doing.” 

" What do you mean, Winona? ” 

“ I mean that I am going to support myself. I 
have a modest income, but it is not sufficient to 
give me a comfortable living. I conld never con- 
tent myself being dependent on my brother. He is 
generous, and I know will object seriously to my in- 
dependent step. You know southern men’s ideas 
on such subjects. But he has his own responsibili- 
ties, and then you know, I believe in honest work. 


WINONA. 


153 

In it, one does not have so much time to brood and 
worry. ‘Idleness always breeds discontent,’ even 
though the coffer be full.” 

“ Have you any formulated plans, Winona, as re- 
gards the course you will pursue ? ” 

“ No, as yet, they are in a chaotic state. At first 
I shall have to do what I can, not what I would 
like, perhaps.” 

“ Well, I have an idea for you — at least, you 
might consider it. I have a dear friend in New 
York who is situated much like yourself ; she does 
a great deal of literary work for a large publishing 
house. Now, through her, I believe I could assist 
you in getting illustrating to do on some Of their 
weeklies or magazines.” 

“ Oh, Jean, do you think it possible ! How happy 
I would be ! I want to leave here anyway — I want 
to try and forget !” 

“ Well,” said Jean, “ I will write immediately and 
see what the prospects are. Give me some of your 
best samples of drawing to enclose with my letter.” 

Winona waited anxiously for its answer. Its con- 
tents when it came, were most encouraging. “Tell 
your friend Mrs. Manning to come, dear Jean,” it 
said. “ I am sure I can help her to get soviet king 
to do. One thing may lead to another and better. 
I well know how to sympathize with her.” 

“ What a generous spirit has your friend, and what 
a loving heart is yours,” said Winona, affectionately 
kissing Jean, tears of joy coursing her cheeks. “I 


154 


JvmoJVA, 


have heard cynics say, there was no such thing as 
true friendship. You have proven that assertion 
false by your faithfulness to me.” 

'‘Thank you, Winona; it does me great good to 
hear you say that, for you may yet need the faith I 
have inspired in friendship, to save you from infidel- 
ity, regarding the same. Not that you will not find 
others true, but as you have found pitfalls in love, 
so will you in friendship, and it will be your own 
judgment generally that must tell you where the ice 
is thin. In the new, broader path before you, there 
will be many such places. You will have to learn 
to avoid them.” 

" Oh, Jean, that means I must have more '^exper- 
ience T' 

“Yes, Winona; experience is the chief ingredient 
in the making up of life.” 

“ Well,” replied Winona, “ I have adopted this 
rule — to give every one the benefit of the doubt, 
treating them as a lady or gentleman until, they 
have proven themselves unworthy.” 

“ Poor, dear child, for you are a child at heart 
still,” said Jean, shaking her head significantly. 

And so it was decided that Winona would go 
north at an early day. 


CHAPTER X. 


The fresh laundried clothes, hanging from the 
lines stretched above the house-tops in New York 
City, were having a wild, fantastic dance in the 
November wind. In vain the smoke that curled up 
from the chimneys, endeavored to penetrate the 
low murky clouds. Eddies of dust frolicked upon 
the pavements. Winona stood, the wind entangled 
in her skirts and long black veil, pulling the bell 
knob of a West Fourteenth Street house. 

“Is Mrs. Pearce in?” she said, addressing the 
chubby, red-faced woman, who opened the door, in 
answer to her ring. 

“ No, marm ; but sha’ll bay in derictly, marm. I 
suppose ye’re the new coommer we’ve bane ex- 
pectin’.” 

“ Mrs. Manning is my name,” said Winona. 

“ That is the sam’; just follow me if you plaze, 
marm. I’m the landlady, marm, and I’ll show ye 
to ye rum,” said the Irish woman, with a conse- 
quential air, leading the way up long stairs to a 
fourth-story room. It was small and had but one 
window, that overlooked a row of filthy, narrow 


IS6 


WINONA, 


back yards. The furniture was old and scant, and 
the bed looked flat and hard. 

How cheerless,” thought Winona, as she looked 
around; ‘‘yet I should be very grateful for even 
this,” she consoled herself. She found Mrs. Pearce 
— Jean’s friend — a sweet, frail woman, with a beauti- 
ful little flaxen-haired daughter. The three were 
soon like one family. Mrs. Pearce was also southern 
born — friendly and sympathetic in her nature. 

“ We go up here,” said Mrs. Pearce to Winona, 
leading the way up the long stairs to a publishing 
house. Winona felt a bit nervous, as she mounted 
the steps, not knowing what the result of that visit 
would be. The boy at the head of the staircase 
anticipated Mrs. Pearce’s mission, and extended his 
hand for their cards. Taking them, he went in, leav- 
ing the two chatting with the old gray-haired manu- 
script reader, who sat near the door, stamping glory 
or doom on the thousands of rolls that passed 
through his hands. 

“ Please walk into Mr. H.’s private office,” said the 
boy, on his return. 

Winona felt so strangely; the time she had so 
often thought of and hoped for had come at last. 
Mr. H. was most cordial in his manner. 

“ This is the friend of whom I spoke to you the 
other day,” said Mrs. Pearce to Mr. H., after the 
usual courtesies. 

“ Ah, yes,” replied Mr. H. “ I am so sorry to 
have to disappoint you in regard to the position I 


WINONA, 


157 


had expected to give to Mrs. Manning. The young 
lady who had it has suddenly decided to remain, 
leaving no vacancy just now.” Winona s heart sank. 
As they were going out Mr. H. detained Mrs. Pearce 
a moment, saying in an undertone : “ what a charm- 
ing, magnetic woman, is Mrs. Manning. I think I 
will be able to help her to something in another es- 
tablishment. ril try, and let you know in a few 
days.” 

Thanking him, Mrs. Pearce joined Winona, who 
had a depressed expression. “ Don’t be disheart- 
ened,” consolec^ Mrs. Pearce ; it is only one of the 
disappointments that frequently comes to us bread 
winners. Something may soon present itself ; then 
you will be fully repaid for any little anxiety be- 
forehand. You will have such a comfortable, inde- 
pendent feeling.” 

“ Oh, I’m quite sure it will all come right,” said 
Winona, endeavoring to brighten up, ashamed of 
herself for having for a moment lost courage. 

Several days after a note came to Winona from 
Mr. H. saying: ‘^Please call at the residence of 
Mr. Gerade, No. — Fifth Avenue, to-morrow, be- 
tween the hours of twelve and one. I am almost 
sure he will give you the employment you desire. 
He is a millionaire, having large interests in several 
important periodicals, himself having retired, leav- 
ing the business to managers. A word from him 
would be sufficient to them.” 

Half-past twelve the following day found Winona 


IVINONA. 


158 

at the entrance of the Gerade mansion. There was 
a touch of timidity in her ring of the door-bell. An 
English porter in red waistcoat and black knicker- 
bockers opened the door and invited her into an 
elegantly furnished parlor. A moment later she 
was ushered into the library where were Mr. and 
Mrs. Gerade. Mr. Gerade was a typical New 
Yorker — portly in mien, smooth shaven face, with 
the exception of English burnsides, fresh ruddy com- 
plexion and an air that stylish, neat clothes always 
lend. Mrs. Gerade was queenly in figure, with 
beautiful silver locks and a quaint, * refined appear- 
ance, looking as if she had just stepped out of some 
antique picture frame. Both rose with a little look 
of surprise, to greet Winona, as she entered. They 
had not expected to see one so young and beauti- 
ful. Somehow they had construed the word 

widow” in Mr. H.’s note, as meaning settled with 
care wrinkles and premature gray hair. 

Winona’s walk had tinged her cheeks with a deli- 
cate pink. Her thick, black veil was thrown back, 
making her beautiful face to look like a pearl set in 
onyx. 

Pardon my lying down,” said Mrs. Gerade to 
Winona, reclining on a divan after greeting her. 
“ I am an invalid these days.” 

Then Mr. Gerade and Winona chatted away on 
business. She explained to him that her idea was 
to get illustrating to do, at the same time keeping 
up her study in that line at the Cooper Institute, in 


WINONA, 


159 


order to perfect herself and make her work more 
remunerative. During their conversation, Mrs. 
Gerade’s maid, Teresa, entered with a dainty glass 
of Vin Marianne on a silver tray, handing it to her 
mistress. Teresa was a handsome woman about 
forty years old. She was, evidently, a German, 
from her type of beauty — fair complexion, rosy 
cheeks, blue eyes and light hair. Had she not worn 
the conventional white cap and apron, one would 
have mistaken her for a member of the Gerade fam- 
ily, for she was equally as aristocratic in bearing. 
Winona was busily engaged with Mr. Gerarde, and 
gave Teresa but little notice; but Teresa cast a 
glance at Winona, as she stood waiting for her mis- 
tress to take her tonic. She didn’t notice that 
Mrs. Gerade had emptied the glass until she touched 
her hand as a reminder. The color came to 
Teresa’s face at the thought of being so rude as to 
stare, for her eyes had indeed been riveted on their 
caller. Her color went as quickly as it came, as she 
turned and looked back at Winona as she reached 
the door, then went out. 

Winona’s call was most encouraging and pleasant. 
She would know its results in a few days. Mr. and 
Mrs. Gerade had seldom met one who so enlisted 
their sympathy and won their admiration, as did 
Winona. Mrs. Gerade insisted she should call 
again, adding that she so much enjoyed bright, 
agreeable company, as her health would not permit 


i6o 


fV/JVOATA. 


her going out for recreation, in spite of her well 
appearance. 

Several days later one of Mr. Gerade’s managers 
called on Winona and made her a most satisfactory 
proposition, which she accepted gratefully and was 
soon at work in her new calling. It required no dis- 
agreeable business relationships with men. Most of 
her sketching was done at home in her own quiet, 
humble room, or at the Institute, and was generally 
sent, when completed, by a messenger, to the man- 
ager’s office. Her life was secluded, with but little 
social element, giving most of her time and force to 
her art. She knew but few, and did not care to 
know others, as she was not situated to cultivate 
tiiem or return their hospitalities. By nature, 
Winona was very social, and sometimes as she 
walked along with the surging throngs, looking into 
their strange faces, with never a friendly smile or 
bow for her, she felt as lonely as if treading a ban- 
quet hall deserted. Yet she consoled herself with 
the thought that it would not be so always. She 
had confidence in her ability and believed she would 
yet make an enviable placement for herself. She 
found such satisfaction in her pursuit. Besides 
Mrs. Pearce and her young daughter, the house 
where Winona roomed, afforded but little compan- 
ionship. No one of means lived in that locality. 
There were many professional people there of limited 
reputation. On the same floor with her was 
Mrs. Pearce and her daughter: Miss Mays, 


WINONA. 


i6i 


a stenographer, and Mr. Le Blanc, a young 
architect. Just beneath her was a Professor of the 
piano, with a homely wife older than himself and a 
half dozen young children. Winona wondered how 
a man with so much poetry in his soul could have 
admired such a woman for his wife. She knew 
poetry was in his composition by the way he played, 
even though the tones of the piano did come to 
her muffled by the floor between, making them to 
sound like a voice in a well. Then she passed his 
door one day and saw that the walls were decorated 
with lithographs of many of the great artists in his 
line and programmes of various musical organiza- 
tions. A three-corner grand piano was the chief 
article of furniture in his room, at which he sat, with 
pompadored locks and gold rimmed eye-glasses, 
making music to drown his cares, and the noise of 
his six fretting, boisterous children about him. 
“The picture tells its own story — Genius hand in 
hand with poverty,” thought Winona. Mr. Le 
Blanc was a friend of Mrs. Pearce’s. Through her 
Winona met him. One day, soon after, as she 
stood chatting with him in the hall-way. Miss Mays 
passed. Mr. Le Blanc was also a friencT of Miss 
Mays. Immediately the latter assumed a friendly 
inclination to Winona. She took advantage of 
every opportunity to talk with her, and several 
times joined her as she was going out for a walk. 
She was so affable and patronizing on all occasions, 
and clothed her language with a subtle tone of sin- 


1 62 


WINOISTA, 


cerity. She would compliment Winona by giving 
her confidence. As soon as she deemed it prudent 
she made Mr. Le Blanc a topic of conversation. 
She approached the subject in such a casual, ‘‘by- 
the-way manner. Miss Mays had cleverly won 
Winona’s friendship and confidence. Being so 
alone, it was a great pleasure for Winona, to feel 
there was some one so near in such harmony with 
herself. Mrs. Pearce was good and kind ; she loved 
her dearly, but Miss Mays was her own age : there 
was in her the sympathy of youthful thoughts and 
ways. She had an indirect way of drawing out 
Winona’s opinions without directly questioning her. 
She soon saw that Winona appreciated Mr. Le 
Blanc’s talent, and that Mr. Le Blanc admired 
Winona for herself, with an intensity, yet always 
with a gentlemanly consideration for her widow- 
hood, fearing to offend Winona’s keen sense of pro- 
priety. In the mean time, Winona had called on 
Mrs. Gerade, as requested, and sent her a basket of 
violets, to show, in a delicate way, her appreciation 
of her husband’s kindness. Her visit to Mrs. Ge- 
rade was to each mutually charming, Mrs. Gerade 
thought after Winona had gone, that if ever she had 
been blessed with a daughter she would have liked 
her to be a duplicate of Mrs. Manning. And Wi- 
nona went away feeling that if her mother had lived 
she would have been like Mrs. Gerade. On Christ- 
mas eve an invitation came from Mrs. Gerade to 
Winona, asking her to take Christmas dinner with 


WINONA, 


163 


them. On that day, at the appointed hour, the 
Gerade turnout rolled up to her modest abode and 
bore her to her friends. 

Teresa smiled as if she was so glad to see Winona, 
and assisted her graciously in taking off her wraps. 

“ It was so good of Mrs. Gerade to send for me; 
I had thought to spend such a lonely, desolate day. 
One always thinks of home at Christmas, but I 
haven’t any home now. I am like the birds that 
nestle wherever they can, to shield themselves from 
the cutting winds,” said Winona, talking, partly to 
herself and partly to Teresa, as she stood over the 
register warming before going down-stairs. Oh ! 
pardon me,” she added, as if waking from a dream, 
seeing two great tears coursing Teresa’s cheeks ; '‘I 
forget sometimes.” 

Teresa excused herself saying she would return 
in a moment to show her down-stairs. 

Winona was surprised and touched by her sym- 
pathy and pleased with her manner. Somehow she 
looked to her out of place as a menial. 

Winona made herself a most agreeable acqui- 
sition to the Gerade dinner-party — chatting pleas- 
antly with all, being quick at repartee and quite 
equal to general topics of conversation. During the 
evening Mr. Gerade requested her to give them some 
music. Winona had not touched a piano or sung a 
note, since her great bereavement. She did not see 
how she could so control her feelings as to comply, 
but Mr. Gerade did not know her life’s stoiy, nor 


164 


WINONA. 


did his guests. To attempt any explanation would 
be most awkward ; to refuse Mr. Gerade without 
would be discourteous. Sitting to the piano, she 
determined to try. She first struck several heavy 
chords to strengthen her courage, then began play- 
ing as she had never played before . Volumes of 
feeling that surged through her soul, expressed them- 
selves at her touch. The tones, for a moment would 
mourn and sob, trailing away into faint echoes, then 
suddenly cry aloud in despair, like a lost soul, pray- 
ing for help. Again, they would leap with the fire 
of passion, causing trickling chills to creep over the 
listeners; then calm into sweetness, making one to 
think of moonlight and soft summer winds — a 
lover’s night. Winona turned from the piano when 
she had finished, her eyes sparkling and cheeks 
aglow. She always felt her music so intensely. 
'‘Please excuse me from singing to-night; my voice 
is not quite itself,” she said as the company looked 
at her with admiration, and insisted on an encore. 

That evening fully established Winona into the 
good favor and strong friendship of Mr. and Mrs. 
Gerade. She soon became a regular visitor to their 
home. Mrs. Gerard claimed one night out of each 
week from her. Those nights were occasions of great 
pleasure to both, for though there was much differ- 
ence in age, yet there was great congeniality of ideas 
with them. On bright days when Mrs. Gerade was 
feeling better, they would have a drive to the park 
together. 


winoa^a. 


165 


“Suppose we drive over to Greenwood Ceme- 
te^'y,” suggested Mrs. Gerade, one balmy afternoon. 

Winona was delighted, for she had never been 
there. As they drove past the many handsome 
monuments and costly vaults, Winona grew very 
serious. 

Why are you quiet,” asked Mrs. Gerade. 

“ I was thinking of the significance of all this 
great array of marble, in the City of the Dead. As 
it is here, nearly every slab commemorates the 
tragedy — to be born — to struggle — to die! Read 
that inscription there — ‘‘Charles Laird, born June 
3d, 1840; died April 9th, 1863.” What a leaden 
weight that word “died,” contains. It makes one 
feel as if that event was indeed the end of Charles 
Laird, and in truth it was, unless he did something 
for the uplifting of humanity, Here is another — 
“ Rebecca Morse, born August 12th, 1833; Liv- 
ing for the Lord, in Him fell asleep, September i6th, 
1874.” What a soothing tone is in that; I like it 
better than the other. It changes the tragedy into 
a pleasing drama. If that inscription is true, Re- 
becca Morse is not dead; her body has only disap- 
peared. She lives with more influence to-day, than 
when she lay down in her deep narrow bed. Her 
influence will be stronger to-morrow than it is to-day; 
and so with every succeeding day, as seeds multiply 
from field to field for the final great harvest. It is 
strange there are many who never have influence 
until they have passed out of sight.” 


IVINONA. 


1 66 

“Yes, that is quite true, said Mrs. Gerade.” I 
have noticed it, particularly exemplified by mother 
and children. A good, loving patient mother often 
pleads her life away in prayer for her wayward child, 
with no seeming result. But when her lips become 
voiceless ; when she is no longer able to clasp her 
hands in supplication; when there is a vacant chair 
in the home circle, then, it is her influence speaks 
with a power and eloquence reserved only for those 
in spirit-land.” 

“ It must be a great blessing to have a good 
mother,” said Winona, drawing a deep sigh. “ I 
have often pictured how happy I would be to have 
some one who would always love and sympathize 
with me; to have my interest at heart as she had 
her own, never forsaking me under any circum- 
stances.” 

“How old were you v’. your mother died ? ” 
questioned Mrs. Gerade. 

“ The same breath that prayed her last prayer, 
breathed the breath of life into me. Surely I ought 
to be a good woman ! ” said Winona softly, the 
tears filling her eyes. 

Did you ever think of how an infidel cemetery 
would look?” said Mrs. Gerade, in order to attract 
Winona’s attention from the painful thoughts she 
saw she had aroused. 

“ Yes, and to me, what a scene of dearth and 
monotony ! Every tomb bears the same inscription 
— dead ! dead ! dead ! No marble angels point 


tVINONA, 


167 

with uplifted finger there to the resurrection. The 
mourners sit by the graves with no upward look of 
hope. Their heads drooped forever with despair.*' 

“ What is your creed, Winona ? ’* 

Humanity.” 

“ Do you mean as Christ taught it ? ” 

‘‘Yes. His life was an example of loving one’s 
neighbor as themselves. That one word ""love "" — 
unbounded, everlasting, covers all the law and com- 
mandments. ” 

“ Do you find no trouble or doubt in accepting the 
divinity of Christ and the Bible as revelation 1 "" 

“ No more than I do in accepting the shining 
sun, the blooming flower and the rippling stream as 
revelations of the natural law. Since I have com- 
prehended how natural law is embodied in the 
spiritual, making religion and science not opposed 
to each other, my faith has been established. See 
what a glorious sunset ! ” Winona broke off ab- 
ruptly. 

“ Yes, it makes me think of Christ’s words : ‘ When 
it is evening ye say it will be fair weather, for the 
sky is red. And in the morning, it will be foul 
weather to-day, for the sky is red and lowering. 
Oh, ye hypocrites ; ye can discern the face of the sky, 
but can ye not discern the signs of the times } " 
The signs of this present time indicate to me moral 
liberty. As you suggested, we need people of 
power to defend humanity in man. “ The I'rue 
Man "" should be their motto. We need a second 


WINONA. 


1 68 

Paul, to stand on a Mars’ Hill in our midstand with 
a significant and forcible gesture to us say, *Ye 
children of this latter day, I perceive that in all 
things concerning your salvation, ye are too 
sceptical'' 

By this time, they had again reached the public 
thoroughfare where the rumbling and passing of 
carts, wagons and vehicles interrupted their thought- 
ful conversation. 

And so the days passed until the summer came, 
when Mr. and Mrs. Gerade went away. Winona 
missed them very much, for they took such a 
fatherly and motherly interest in her. She was 
making rapid progress in her art ; her salary was to 
be raised in the fall. Since Mr. and Mrs. Gerade 
were away, Winona saw more of Mrs. Pearce, Miss 
Mays and Mr. Le Blanc. The dull summer season 
gave them more leisure. They would frequently go 
up to Central Park for an afternoon and wander 
around, looking at the animals or strolling through 
the museum. Then, sitting down to rest with 
others, amusing themselves watching the nurses 
and children; the latter in an atmosphere of crumbs, 
munching crackers from a paper-bag. The swells ” 
whom business kept in the city, dashed by in their 
handsome turnouts, with jingling, glittering harness, 
flirting with their summer girls.” 

‘‘ How very plebeian we must appear to these 
lords of fashion,” said Winona, ‘‘and what a restful 
independence we enjoy, being unknown. After all, 


tVINONA. 169 

there are advantages for the obscure, as well as the 
famous.” 

Miss Mays and Winona had stopped to admire a 
bed of flowers, while Mrs. Pearce and Mr. Le Blanc 
walked ahead. 

“ Isn’t Mr. Le Blanc peculiar; I don’t like eccen- 
tricity in people,” said Miss Mays, in a casual, pleas- 
ant way, as he turned to look back at them, and 
waved to “ come on.” 

“ Why, I don’t know,” replied Winona ; ‘‘ I 
rather admire him. He is a brave young man and 
works so hard. He keeps his door open these 
warm days, and I see him constantly at his table. 
He has a refined nature, I think, for he keeps a 
geranium in his window all the while. Some peo- 
ple would say that was somewhat effeminate or 
affected in him, but to me it indicates appreciation 
of the beautiful in a delicate way. That one green 
plant with a red blossom gives an entirely different 
expression to his narrow, humble room. It re- 
minds me of a cactus bloom giving beauty to the 
desert.” 

Miss Mays smiled with satisfaction to herself. 

Mrs. Pearce seems to admire him also,” she re- 
marked, in the same careless tone. 

“Yes, I’m sure she does. She said only the 
other day that it was a pity he didn’t have the 
judgment to keep his money as he had the ability 
to make it, being so generous natured.” 

Again Miss Mays smiled with satisfaction. 


I/O 


WINONA. 


That little chat between Miss Mays and Winona 
was only one of a series of the same style that had 
been continuing for some months. When Winona 
first came into their midst, Mr. Le Blanc, as has 
been said, was most courteous to her, but always in 
a way to which she could take no exceptions. 
Somehow, of late, he was polite, but Winona did 
not see him so often, nor did he seem to care to 
chat with her as before. At first Winona gave his 
indifference no thought ; but when it grew by de- 
grees to coolness, she began to wonder at his man- 
ner toward her, but said nothing. Should she 
speak of it to Mrs. Pearce and Miss Mays they 
might think her unbecomingly interested. Soon 
Mrs. Pearce became more exclusive, but always 
speaking pleasantly to Winona. Miss Mays, on 
the contrary, was more agreeable and sociable than 
ever. Wiilona thought it all over many times as 
she tossed on her bed at night. 

There was something going wrong ; she felt it in- 
tuitively, but what it was she could not understand. 
She tried again and again to think if she had done 
anything to offend, but with no satisfactory result. 
It made her most unhappy. She at last made up 
her mind to go to Mrs. Pearce and ask her what 
was the matter — why she was not so friendly as of 
old. She determined to go to her the first op- 
portunity ; she would go then, but Mrs. Pearce was 
out. ‘‘ I, too, will take a walk,’' said Winona; '‘per- 
haps by the time I return, she will be in. I can 


IV/A^OJVA. 


I71 


not content myself in this frame of mind.” As 
she went out Miss Mays passed her on the stair- 
way, coming in with a pleasant greeting. As Winona 
reached the pavement she noticed a few drops of 
rain on the stones, and turned back for her umbrella. 
When she reached her room, she saw through the 
window that the drops were coming thick and faster. 
“ It is only a passing shower,” she said; I’ll wait 
until it is over.” 

A moment later Winona heard two voices just 
outside her door, that stood a bit ajar. She 
recognized them to be Mrs. Pearce’s and Miss 
Mays’. 

“I wouldn’t have you think I’m in the habit of 
talking about people, Mrs. Pearce,” Winona heard 
Miss Mays say, in an injured, apolegetic tone, ‘‘and 
she didn’t mean any harm, I dare say ; but, of 
course, you know. I’m engaged to Mr. Le Blanc, 
and to hear any one speak of his room as if it were 
a poverty hovel when theirs is no better, it hurts 
me as it did him ; and that you should accuse him 
of being a spendthrift was more cutting. Did Mrs. 
Manning know the relationship existing between us, 
of course, she would not have told me these things ; 
but I do not care to make my engagement public 
yet. I regret so much that she comes to me and 
talks this way, for I have always liked her, and, in- 
deed, I shall always treat her kindly. I do not want 
to have any unpleasantness. I shall insist upon 
Mr. Le Blanc’s being courteous to her, and I hope 


1/2 


PVmOATA. 


you will let it make no difference in your regard for 
her/’ 

“You are very noble and charitable, Miss Mays, 
in your behavior towards Mrs. Manning under the 
circumstances, but I must acknowledge I am sadly 
disappointed in her. It is hard for me to compre- 
hend such a disposition under such a fair exterior. 
I, too, shall treat her pleasantly, but shall be re- 
served — it is not the first time she has misrepre- 
sented me to you. I hope you will explain to Mr. 
Le Blanc.’^ 

Winona for some time sat dazed, as if an insult- 
ing hand had dashed a glass of cold water in her 
face, causing her to gasp for breath. She locked 
her door when they had gone, and with a pitiful, 
“ Oh, God ! ” on her lips, buried her face in her 
hands, weeping bitterly. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gerade had returned to the city the 
day before. Winona had been to welcome them, 
but “ she would go again to see Mrs. Gerade early 
next morning and ask her advice.” Winona retired, 
but did not sleep all night. The next morning 
she hurried to Mrs. Gerade, finding her lying, as 
usual, in the library. Winona was glad to find her 
alone. “ Why, good-morning,” said Mrs. Gerade, 
cheerily, “ how good of you to come. I was just 
wishing for you.” 

Winona’s face was flushed with excitement ; her 
eyes flashing, and nostrils distended with feeling. 
She could not even reply to Mrs. Gerade’s good- 


WINONA. 173 

morning. She seemed choking, and sank heavily 
into a chair. 

‘‘Why, Winona,” said Mrs. Gerade, as she now 
called her — “ pi'ay what is the matter?” 

Winona rose suddenly, one hand grasping firmly 
the back of the chair as if to steady herself. “ Mrs. 
Gerade,” she said, with as much dramatic force as 
the greatest emotional actress could have done it. 
“ I hate my womankind ! Yes, hate her ! ! ” 

Mrs. Gerade raised herself upon her elbow and 
gazed in astonishment at Winona. “ My dear 
child,” she said with anxiety, “what has come over 
you ; how unlike yourself ! I have never seen you 
act like this.” 

“Oh, I have been deceived^' Winona went on, 
“and by a woman ! ” 

“Come, sit here at my side, my dear, calm your- 
self, and now, tell me all about it.” 

Winona then told Mrs. Gerade how she had put 
so much confidence in Miss Mays ; how Miss Mays 
had pretended so long to be her friend ; told her of 
the mutual esteem that had existed between her- 
self and Mr. Le Blanc, and the reciprocated love of 
Mrs. Pearce, which Miss Mays had so shrewdly 
undermined and shattered. “ Oh, why did she 
do it ? for I have never done her one unkindness,” 
Winona added. 

“Jealousy,” answered Mrs. Gerade. 

Winona looked thoughtful a moment, then said : 
“Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, said: 


174 


WINONA. 


‘Jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof 
are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.’ 
I believe that it is woman’s greatest curse, though 
it is not generally so regarded. In naming over 
the great sins, murder, and such like, it is never 
mentioned, and yet, how many evil things it hugs 
in its ravenous embrace. The jealous woman 
oftentimes blasphemes her rival, robs her of a good 
name, bears false witness against her and murders 
her again and again in her heart.” 

“ I see you have suffered, Winona.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Gerade, and I now realize that there 
are two kinds of jealousy, just as there are two 
styles of villains. Shakespeare has given us the 
bold, merciless Richard III., and the crafty, wicked 
lago. I have suffered from both.” 

“ I readily recognize,” said Mrs. Gerade, “ Miss 
Mays as the lago type. She is one who should be 
branded “ dangerous; ” but, listen, my dear; think 
for a moment of what you said. You said you 
hated'' your womankind. Do you realize that 
includes everyhod.y ? ” 

“ Oh, not you — not Jean, and I would say Mrs. 
Pearce; for it is not her fault she misjudges me. 
Forgive me, I should not have spoken so,” said 
Winona, kissing Mrs. Gerade affectionately ; “ but 
for the time, it made me so bitter! Miss Mays has 
robbed me of something that all time can never re- 
place. I can never again be just the same — it will 
be wanting in me — confidence! Ah, Jean warned 


WINONA. 175 

me ; she said I might yet need my faith in her to 
save me from infidelity in friendship/* 

“You must not brood over these experiences, 
Winona, for they will contaminate your own lovely 
nature. I grant you, that jealousy is woman’s 
greatest curse. I have often wondered that the 
ministers did not hold it up before us as a greater 
abhorrence than they do. There are many of our 
sex who cannot even see a new feather in their 
neighbor’s bonnet without having their envy aroused. 
An entire outfit of a fresh spring hat would be 
sufficient to make them miserable. These so-called 
petty vices, are productive of monstrous, evils just 
as massive oaks grow from an acorn. I am sur- 
prised, Winona, that you have lived to be a married 
woman, a widow, and are just learning this dis- 
agreeable lesson. With your attractiveness and 
accomplishments, I wonder you have not learned it 
long ago. You will have to review it many times 
over, I fear, in your life, and by repetition you must 
not hope for it to become easy ; it will always 
present new phases, just as the same moon rises 
before us every month, but bringing with it different 
seasons. But with your dignity and womanliness, 
and by being true to yourself, you can always 
master it. Keep your conscience clear, then you 
will be happy and a power for good wherever you 

go-" 

Oh, Mrs. Gerade, I am so grateful to you for 
talking to me like this,” said Winona. “ I do not 


1/6 


WINONA. 


want to be cynical ; I want to love everybody. 
I forgot myself when I said, I hated ; that is such 
a terrible word, but I had such a dreadful pent-up 
feeling when I thought of the injustice, I did not 
know how else to give vent to it. And now, what 
shall I do about Miss Mays? I do not want to have 
a vulgar scene — how shall I vindicate myself? It is 
true I said Mr. Le Blanc’s narrow, humble room 
was made attractive by his red geranium, and that 
Mrs. Pearce thought his extreme generosity of 
nature a pity, but should I so present these state- 
ments, my amend would likely not be accepted. 
Even should it be, then, general dislikes would 
follow. I certainly do not want to mar their 
happiness. Advise me.” 

My dear, have not one unpleasant word with 
either of those people, though they have condemned 
you without even giving you a trial. As a weapon 
of defence, silence may not have so sharp a blade, 
but it has often a jewelled haft of great value. 
Mark you. Miss Mays will yet hang herself by her 
own rope, without your tying the noose. Mr. 
Le Blanc will yet be your friend, and Mrs. Pearce 
love you better than ever. Treat them politely ; 
kindly ; but I do not want you to remain in their 
midst another day. Mr. Gerade and I have talked 
for sometime of having you to come and live with 
us. We have no children ; we love you, Winona ; 
we want you to come and be as our own. We do 
not ask you to give up your art. With your 


WINONA, 


177 


pride and disposition, you would not be content 
idle. Come and let us endeavor to be a joy to 
each other.’' 

Winona threw her arms about Mrs. Gerade’s neck 
and kissed her again and again. There are dark 
clouds in my life,” she said, “ but I see now, their 
silver lining ! ” 


CHAPTER XI. 


Two years had elapsed since Winona came to 
live with the Gerades. Theirs was a happy family, 
and they did indeed treat her as their own. 
Teresa, too, loved her devotedly, and anticipated 
her every want. Teresa had come to be a great 
sufferer from the rapid growth of a tumor, that 
threatened her life. The doctors said she would 
have to submit to an operation, which would give 
her one chance to live, where without, it would be 
impossible. 

“For your sakes, and not my own,'' she said, 
looking lovingly into Winona’s and Mrs. Gerade’s 
face, “ do I care to live. I will go under the 
knife.” 

Teresa had lived with Mrs. Gerade for years. She 
came to her from the Employment Bureau, and all 
Mrs. Gerade knew was, that Teresa was an orphan, 
reared in one of the homes of the city. She soon 
became invaluable to her as a maid, and since her 
ill health had assumed almost entire management 
of the housekeeping. She had found her always 
the same good-natured, intelligent and refined 
woman, never presuming in her position. Winona 


WINONA. 


179 


had for her a peculiar affection. She thought 
sometimes, perhaps it was because she, too, was an 
orphan. She found it difficult to treat her as a 
domestic ; somehow she felt that she was her 
equal. 

Mrs. Gerade procured a private room for Teresa 
at St. Luke’s Hospital, and requested she should 
have the best attention. The operation seemed 
most successful, and the doctors gave every en- 
couragement for her recovery. Mrs. Gerade was 
not able to go and see her often, but daily, Winona 
would spend several hours reading and chatting 
cheerfully with her. Teresa always looked for her 
coming with impatience ; her face lighting with a 
smile at her appearance. Some days passed, but 
Teresa didn’t feel so well. The doctor looked serious 
and said: ‘Hhe wound had healed too rapidly: 
there was danger of blood poisoning ; it must be 
lacerated again.” Poor Teresa bore the intense ag- 
ony bravely, while Winona held her hand. 

It is all for you,” she said, the pain swelling the 
veins of her face, as she looked into Winona’s eyes, 
with a pitiful, loving expression. Winona didn’t 
comprehend ; she thought they were only words 
full of suffering expressed as a groan would be. 

From that time Teresa began to fail. It was 
Christmas-eve day. As the doctor entered on his 
usual round, Teresa said to him very calmly and 
earnestly : Doctor, I want you to tell me hon- 
estly, am I going to die ? Do not hesitate, I am 


i8o 


WINONA. 


not afraid, and there are none to keep me here, save 
that angel one, who comes to be with me every 
day/’ 

The doctor remained silent a moment. “ It won’t 
be long/’ he said softly, at last. 

Well, doctor, I want to tell you, that when I 
came here, I was registered under the assumed 
name of Teresa Steihn, by which I have been 
known since living in New York. My real name is 
Teresa Hardeman. I want to beg of you to make 
that correction for the sake of my burial certificate. 
I do not want to die leaving a lie on my record.” 

The doctor looked at Teresa a bit curiously, mak- 
ing no reply, but ringing for writing material and 
taking her corrections, as she dictated. It was not 
an unusual occurrence to him ; nothing very roman- 
tic about it ; there were so many strange people 
with hidden lives who died in hospitals. 

Winona came as usual to spend the afternoon with 
her, bringing a white Christmas lily. Teresa took 
the flower with feeble fingers, regarding it, then 
Winona, with a thoughtful look, as if one reminded 
her of the other. The afternoon passed so rapidly 
to Teresa — she had but little to say, when there was 
so much on her heart she wanted to say, but could 
not find the courage. Winona rose to go. 

Oh, I wish you didn’t have to leave me.” Here 
Teresa hesitated, looking pleadingly at Winona, 
then said : ''Would you mind very much spending 
the night with me, my dear ? The doctor says it 


mNOATA. 


i8i 


won't be long and I want your face to be the last I 
look into ; you can make my going peaceful." 

Why, certainly, Teresa, I will stay with you ; it 
is a great pleasure for me to do anything for your 
comfort," answered Winona, with effort, trying to 
choke back her tears. 

The early part of the evening Teresa fell asleep, 
resting better than she had for some time. It was 
midnight. Winona sat by the window, and looking 
across the street, caught through a half open shut- 
ter a glimpse of a curly head, pillowed on its downy 
bed. A happy mother and father crept on tiptoe 
about the room, filling their darling’s stocking with 
Santa-Claus." Happy, innocent one : " thought 
Winona. How the scene takes me back to child- 
hood ; to grandpa and grandma. Aunt Sallie and poor 
Brother Dan. Ah, how strange is life! This loving 
and parting ! " Here the tears began coursing her 
cheeks. The night was clear and cold — a glorious 
night. Everywhere was a hushed stillness, even 
the many sufferers on the long rows of cots in the 
ward near by, seemed not to groan and call aloud to 
the Lord as usual. Was it that all nature was rev- 
erencing the anniversary of the birth of Jesus? 
Suddenly Teresa woke with a start. Winona went 
and sat by her side, taking her hand in hers. Te- 
resa looked into her face with a smile, and closing 
her eyes again, as if loath to wake, said : “ I was 
dreaming I was with him." Winona made no reply 
but stroked her brow tenderly, wondering who she 


WINOiSTA. 


182 

meant when speaking of ‘‘him.” Teresa kept her 
eyes closed for a moment, then, opening them, 
looked straight into Winona's face, saying: “Miss 
Winona, with my last breath, I want to tell you a 
great secret.” The stillness, the dim light of the 
sick room, Teresa's pale face, and that word,“ Se- 
cret,” made the chills creep over Winona. “A 
long time ago,” Teresa began slowly in a weak 
voice, “ when I first could remember accurately, I 
lived away down in one of the filthy dens of this 
great city. An old, toothless, wrinkled hag, who 
taught me to call her mother, and a younger, but 
not more prepossessing man, whom I called father, 
brought me up to the age of seven years, in a mis- 
erable, cruel way. Suddenly, one day, I found my- 
self left by them at an orphan's home, wearing a 
clean, white apron that was my joy, having known 
nothing but filthy rags. I have never seen the wo- 
man who called herself my mother since, but the 
man came back one day, after five years, and took 
me away with him. I struggled and cried to stay, 
but with no avail. He went with me to the far 
west, stopping here and there, and treating me cru- 
elly all the while on account of my pleadings to go 
back. We lived in that way several years ; then 
settled in a hut on the prairie, near an Indian camp. 
They frightened me almost crazy with their wild 
whoops and savage war-dances. Hurriedly, in the 
middle of one night, we left; he seemed to be 
frightened about something. On and on we trav- 


WINONA, 


183 


eled, until once more we stopped in the south.” 
Here Teresa stopped to rest a moment, while Wi- 
nona held her breath in wonderment. “We lived,” 
Teresa commenced again, “in a log cabin, back in 
the piney woods near Decatur, Georgia. The man 
who called himself my father, was known in that 
settlement as “ old Rag Jake.” 

Winona uttered a stifled scream and fell on her 
knees at Teresa’s side. 

“ Compose yourself, Miss Winona,” said Teresa, 
“ for my breath is growing weaker and I want you 
to know; it may yet be of value to you. Dan Har- 
deman, a grand young man, who was overseeing 
the darkies in a field near by, came to our cabin for 
water one day. Old Jake was away, and we com- 
menced talking together. After that Dan would 
watch his chance when I was alone, and came often. 
We soon were in love with each other; yes, we 
truly loved. But what was to be done about it? 
The Hardemans were people of station, and I, seem- 
ingly, of low degree. But my nature tells me, I 
was not lowly born. I know Dan felt so too ; for I 
told him my story as I am telling it to you. I have 
heard old Jake, in his drunken mutterings, talk of 
his home across the ocean — of the “ Highborn's 
money,” and swearing to yet have some of it. 
Then, again, he would wake with a delirious start, 
and say ‘ they were on his track ! ' — I feel sure. 
Miss Winona, I’m a stolen child. I believe that 
somewhere in this world, a noble born father and 


WINONA. 


184 

mother’s heart beats with yearning for me, if they 
are not already stilled by grief on my account. 
Sometimes I can close my eyes and an indistinct 
picture comes before me of trees, a great building 
with bri ght 1 ights and gaily dressed people, and sol- 
diers that stand in the yard. I must have lived 
near a castle, surrounded, perhaps, by lindens, and 
saw the gendarmes guarding it. Then I never hear 
a mother singing her child to sleep without having 
a strange forgotten feeling creep over me. My 
mother’s voice must have been very sweet and 
soothing. Whenever I would attempt to question 
Old Jake or doubt his word in regard to my iden- 
tity, he would beat me unmercifully. I was driven 
to desperation, yet felt a public union between Dan 
and I would never do. I loved him too well to 
have him openly humiliated by my position. I 
could not prove to the world I was not Old Jake’s 
child. Dan said, ‘ we will marry secretly. I will 
buy up Old Jake; pay him well to keep our secret, 
while we will go far away, and start life anew to- 
gether.’ I consented to his proposition, happy in 
the thought of love and freedom, and at the same 
time, sparing Dan’s good name. Old Jake readily 
consented — I suppose having despaired of ever 
reaping any benefits from having stolen me for 
money — his scheme failed in some way. Dan and I 
were married soon after, binding the minister who 
performed the ceremony, to secrecy also. He died 
in a short while, and I am sure what he knew was 


WmONA. 


i8s 

buried with him. The only witness to our marriage 
was Mr. Billy Simpkins, your old family friend. 
Dan said he knew he was true and would never be- 
tray us. That night just before we were married, 
Dan drew up the papers with the contract which Old 
Jake signed. It stated when we were married ; the 
sum Dan was to pay Old Jake to keep the secret. 
That should he ever tell it, he would forfeit that 
money at the penalty of the law. In case of Dan’s 
death, his property was to come to me. When I died 
it was to go to my children, should any be born. If 
not, then it was to be yours. It also stated, should 
Dan and I die, leaving children, that through no 
other medium, save that of the swearing tongue of 
one of them in person, at the Court Room, to their 
identity as our child, and answering sufficient ques- 
tions to prove that assertion true, should the prop- 
erty be theirs. You see. Miss Winona — ” 

'‘Call me Winona, Teresa,’' interrupted Winona, 
“ for you are my sister, you know,” then kissed her 
affectionately. 

Teresa smiled as if happy even in her pain, then 
went on: “Well, we didn’t know what old Jake 
might attempt in after years, knowing him to be so 
unscrupulous, and pretending to be my father. 
We took every precaution. There were two com 
tracts exactly alike, written out — one for old Jake 
and one for Dan. We had expected to leave 
Georgia in two or three weeks after our marriage, 
but unexpected business of importance arose and 


WINONA, 


1 86 

detained Dan some days longer. Just as our ar- 
rangements were completed, and we were on the eve 
of starting, a summons came to Dan to go to the 
war. He had to go. I told him, my heart break- 
ing with grief, that I would remain with old Jake 
until he came back, praying every hour for his 
safety. The night we parted, I shall never forget. 
Old Jake had gone to Decatur. We had our last 
moments together with the moon alone as a wit- 
ness. The night was balmy and still. Nothing was 
to be heard save the frogs in the marsh, whose 
croaking came to us, nriellowed by distance. I sat 
by Dan’s side and forgot my wretched past, hoping 
and praying for the future. For hours we sat. As 
he started to go, I walked with him to the edge of 
the field. We stood there for a moment in silence, 
the moon drawing our shadows, lank and tall, 
athwart the wild grass. I could tell from Dan’s 
deep, heavy breathing, he was trying to control his 
feelings for my sake. Suddenly he threw his arms 
about me and hugged me close ; so close I could feel 
his wild heart throbs, beating against my breast ; his 
hot breath streaming on my cheek. For a long 
time he held me ; neither of us could speak — then 
with a desperate, heartfelt groan, he turned and ran 
into the shadows of the thick pines, leaving me 
standing alone — alone ! ” 

Teresa’s eyes shone with a long-forgotten bright- 
ness, and her voice recovered in a measure its 
strength, as she told the story of her love. Winona 


WINONA. 


187 


still knelt at her side, weeping quietly. After a 
swallow of water, Teresa continued : When Mr. 
Simpkins came home from the war, he told me of 
Dan’s being wounded at Gettysburg. I was almost 
frantic. I thought and devised many plans to go to 
him, but I did not know just where he was. One 
day, just before the battle of Peachtree Creek about 
your Aunt Sallie’s house, Mr. Simpkins brought me 
a letter from Dan, telling me where he was. He 
had been too ill to write before. I determined to go 
to him the first opportunity. It was the day after 
the battle that I met black Sam out picking up corn 
the army had dropped. He fell to talking with me, 
and asked my opinion about going with the Yankees. 
A thought struck me. I would tell him to go, and I 
would pay him to let me escape with him. It was my 
only way ; I thought he would be an assistance to 
me, as I knew nothing of the South or how or where 
to go to get North. I knew the Yankees would 
direct him. He consented, and we that day started 
off for the North. The unpleasant vicissitudes of 
that journey I could not begin to tell you. At Chat- 
tanooga I left black Sam ; he fell in with crowds 
of other darkies, who were there also on their way 
North. I never saw him again. Perhaps, he was 
one of the many who died there at that time. 
When I reached the hospital, where Dan had been, 
they told me he had just gone on the field again. 
There were but two things then for me to do, go 
back to old Jake or start out for myself in the world. 


i88 


fV/ArOATA. 


I did not so much as debate the matter of-going 
back, but came here, the place I first remember ; 
went to the Employment Bureau and through that, 
got my position with Mrs. Gerade, with whom I 
have since lived. God bless her for her goodness to 
me ! I wrote to Mr. Simpkins, and told him, if a 
letter should come from Dan to me (we always cor- 
responded through him) to forward it to a fictitious 
name, which I gave him — Post Office here. I did 
not want anyone to know where I was; I determined 
if Dan were killed, I would never ask for his prop- 
erty. I knew if I had it, old Jake would make my 
life a torture again, should he find it out, and I 
knew he would keep a close watch for me when he 
heard of Dan’s death. Through Mr. Simpkins, 
when the war was over, I learned of Dan’s death. 
Poor fellow ! Trying to get to me and you, he 
lost his life! But I don’t grieve for him to-night as 
of old, Winona, for he is so near me, waiting to take 
my hand as I reach the other shore — don’t cry, my 
sweet one, you that have always been so considerate 
and good to me. I have loved you since the first 
day you came to talk with Mr. Gerade about a 
position. I saw the resemblance of Dan in your 
face, and after, heard you tell Mrs. Gerade, you 
were a Hardeman, before you married — heard you 
speak of Aunt Sallie and all ; then, I knew you were 
Dan’s ^‘little sister,” as he always called you. 
Don’t worry, try and believe as I do the doctrine of 
the German Theologian — ‘the least important thing 


WINONA. 


i8g 


does not happen except as God wills/ And now 
that I have told you my story, Winona, I want you 
to promise me, that you will never tell what I have 
said to you, to any living or who may yet live, save 
your Aunt Sallie, Mr. Simpkins, and your brother 
George, of whom Dan so often spoke. To tell it 
would do no good ; it could only feed hungry gossi- 
pers, and I would guard the Hardeman’s good 
name in death, as I have tried to do it in life. I do 
not know what disposition has been made of Dan’s 
property — perhaps they have thought me dead al- 
ready ; anyway, now it is yours ; I have no children 
to claim it.” 

“ It all remains just as dear brother Dan left it, 
Teresa,” said Winona. Soon after you left. Aunt 
Sallie told me, old Jake went too. I had such a 
horror of him as a child. I did not know Brother 
Dan’s life until just before I left Georgia to go and 
live in Tennessee. Suddenly one day, old Jake 
appeared, after having been absent all those years, 
hunting for you, no doubt. He boldly walked into 
the room, where sat Aunt Sallie, grandma and my- 
self, and said you had been living with him for 
years; that you had then just died, leaving a child 
which had been born to you after you went to 
nurse Dan at the hospital. That when brother 
Dan went on the field again, you decided to remain 
north until the war was over, when Brother Dan 
would return to you there; that he wrote you from 
the field, he was going home to see me, Aunt Sallie 


WINONA. 


190 

and all, as he was not a great way off. That you 
never heard from him again until he, old Jake, went 
to you and told you of Brother Dan*s burial in the 
Hardeman graveyard. He then said, — I remem- 
ber now how like a hideous imp he looked — ‘ Teresa 
did not demand Dan’s property immediately, having 
heard how impoverished was the South after the 
war. She wanted you all to think her dead, and 
use what was left of it, as I was giving her and 
the child a comfortable living. But just before she 
died, I lost all I had. It was then she said to me; 
' go to Georgia; get what is Dan’s to educate and 
take care of my boy. I leave him to you.' 

Then Aunt Sallie got out Brother Dan’s contract 
— the one you told me of — that he had left with a 
letter, containing full directions in case of his death, 
which he hid in an old trunk in the dungeon. 
When he was killed. Brother Dan gave the key of 
that trunk to our neighbor, the Major, telling him to 
give it to Aunt Sallie, and telling him where she 
would find his valuable papers. Aunt Sallie read old 
Jake the part of the contract that said; Hhe child 
must appear in person and swear to its identity before 
the property could be delivered to it.’ Old Jake 
winced at that, and said the boy was too sick to 
travel, being afflicted with white swelling, and was 
in sore need of money. Then, Aunt Sallie told him if 
he would let her know where the child was, she would 
see that some one went to him and relieved his wants. 
Old Jake appeared insulted, that she should hes- 


WINONA. 


I9I 

itate to trust him in the matter, and left the house 
in a rage. I shall never forget how cruelly he kicked 
my poor dog Turk, as he went out. He disappeared 
as suddenly as he came, and we have never heard 
from him since.” 

‘‘ You see the depth of his villainous scheme, 
how he had perjured his soul for the greed of gain ! ” 
said Teresa. 

“Aunt Sallie had never told me of Brother Dan’s 
life before that day,” Winona went on ; “ she wanted 
to keep the shadow out of my life as long as possible. 
Only our immediate family know of it.” 

“ I pray God that old Jake may never again re- 
turn into your life,” said Teresa. “ I feel that my 
new song, even in the other world, would have a 
strain of sadness in it, could I look down on you here 
below, and see you suffering on my account.” 

“ Do not worry about that, dear Teresa; God is 
an upright judge, — as you said, let us leave it all to 
Him. And now, you must rest awhile from talk- 
ing; I see you have tired yourself.” 

“ Only one thing more said Teresa; “my burial 
certificate will be made out with the truth in it. 
I’ve so directed it. I did not like the thought of 
dying with a lie written in black and white by my 
direction. Mr. Gerade is away ; Mrs. Gerade not 
able to come to me; I want you to take charge of 
my body, then, no one will know. The doctor will 
not give what I told him another thought ; he is so 
accustomed to such things in his position.” 


192 


WINONA, 


Winona’s tender, sympathetic kiss on Teresa’s 
lips, was her only reply, and seemed a peaceful bene- 
diction to the poor sufferer, for she closed her eyes 
and was soon sweetly sleeping again. Winona took 
up her silent, lonely watch at Teresa’s side once 
more. The hours passed. Suddenly a mellow 
light shown through the stained glass windows of 
a church near by. Winona could see them from 
where she sat. There was something so holy in 
their lighted faces, being, In M.emoriam,” of the 
dead. Presently the chorister boys went marching 
into the church, in their long robes and white sur- 
plices, looking like phantoms in the dim gray of the 
early morning. The snow began falling gently 
upon the church-goers, hurrying along to early ser- 
vice. A moment later the chimes of the church stee. 
pie rang out the proclamation : Behold I bring you 
glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all peo- 
ple; for to-day was born in the City of David, a 
Saviour, which is Christ the Lord! Hosannah! Ho- 
sannah! ” I wonder if the chimes will waken Ter- 
esa,” thought Winona, looking closely into her face. 
She could not hear her breathe ; she bent down and 
listened — the heart was stilled — forever ! As peace- 
fully as the sunbeam glides into the moonbeam at 
twilight, Teresa had passed from earth to the better 
land — gone to join in the Hallelujah Anthems being 
chanted that Christmas morning to the Saviour 
King. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Winona was now thoroughly identified with New 
York’s best society. Her position was an enviable 
one. She was regarded as a connoisseur of art, 
giving valuable productions from her pen and pencil 
to the same. Charitable institutions felt the power 
of her leading spirit, and people of culture and 
refinement in all professions recognized in her a sym- 
pathetic congeniality, while admirers of personal 
beauty placed her among the loveliest. Several 
years having passed since her sorrow, she had put 
aside the sombre black of mourning, and donned 
more cheerful, becoming colors. Mr. and Mrs. 
Gerade’s kindness and tender care had done much 
to smooth and chase away the care lines in her face 
She was even more beautiful than before. The 
crisp northern climate had brought a color to her 
pale cheeks. She was a magnetic queen wherever 
she went ; always treating her subjects in such a 
pleasant way ; never once seeming to feel her 
superiority. 

It was during the opera season. Patti was to sing 
in ‘‘ Lakme ” that night, and Mr. and Mrs. Gerade 
had invited General and Mrs. Sherman as their 


194 


WINONA, 


guests to hear her. Winona knew it would be a bril- 
liant occasion, and stood before her mirror, donning 
her richest, and most becoming costume. Mr. and 
Mrs. Gerade had already gone ; the carriage would 
return for her. Scarcely had the noise of the rolling 
wheels bearing them, rumbled away in the distance, 
when a telegram came for Mr. Gerade. 

‘‘ Some matter of business, I suppose,’’ said Wi- 
nona ; I’ll take it to him when I go.” She had 
just finished giving the finishing touch to her toi- 
let. The mirror into which she looked reflected a 
picture of loveliness — a symphony in pale blue — 
when the door bell sounded out again. A moment 
later she heard a man’s voice in the hall-way, ques- 
tioning the porter. Winona listened intently a mo- 
ment, then her cheeks suddenly turned pale, then 
crimson in quick succession. “ What is there in that 
voice that makes my heart beat like this ? ” she said 
to herself, tipping to the stair-railing and peeping 
over. But she could not see ; whoever it was had 
gone into the drawing-room. The porter came up 
and said : the telegram received a little while be- 
fore was from Mr. and Mrs. Gerade’s nephew, an- 
nouncing his coming. That it must have been 
delayed, and he was in the drawing-room now.” 

Winona heard the carriage returning for her. 

I’m going down now, anyway,” she said '^and will 
go in and greet him, since Mrs. Gerade isn’t here.” 
She threw her rich plush cloak carelessly about her 
shoulders and tripped down the stairs, wondering as 


WINONA, 


195 


she went, what kind of a man he was. She had 
often heard Mr. and Mrs. Gerade speak of their 
nephews in general, but nothing particular ; she 
didn’t even remember having heard any of 
their names. With cat-like step her daintily 
slippered feet fell upon the soft carpeting. 
The gentle noise of her gown might have been 
mistaken for the rustle of the silken curtains. 
She stood in the drawing-room door-way, looking 
into the face of a man, but unobseiwed as yet, by 
him. She stopped suddenly and held her breath. 
Sitting just under the light of a beautiful standing 
lamp, his strong, noble features were lighted boldly. 
The premature iron-gray hair about his temples 
gave him a distingue appearance. On his clean, 
shaven face, was a thoughtful serious expression. 
The tout ensemble would have made an admirable 
subject for a painting called : The Head of a Philos- 
opher.” He seem to be regarding intently, a decided 
spot upon the carpet. Lawrence De Movil ! ” whis- 
pered Winona, taking an impulsive step towards him, 
causing her opera cloak to slip upon the floor, leaving 
her alabaster-like neck and arms exposed. 

Lawrence De Movil raised his eyes at that mo- 
ment, and stared motionless, at Winona. He grew 
weak as if his senses were going. Could it be,” he 
said to himself, '' that his memory had so long and 
vididly photographed her on his brain, that she now 
had become to him an apparition?” He could not 
believe his own eyes until Winona, making an effort: 


196 


WmONA. 


to control herself, extended her hand, saying. 
“Why, how do you do, Mr. De Movil ? This is a 
very unexpected and great pleasure. The porter 
only said, Mr. and Mrs. Gerade’s nephew had come. 
I did not know that you were related to them, or 
even knew them. Tve often heard them speak of 
their nephews, but only in a general way.'’ Lawrence 
rose and took her hand as she extended it ; holding 
it firmly while she talked, looking steadily into her 
face. 

“ Mrs. Manning still,” he questioned. 

“ Yes,” replied Winona, her cheeks coloring. 

Their hands seemed bound together by a strange 
force, stronger than powerful chains. There seemed 
no inclination on the part of either to release them. 

“ It is too sudden ! ” at last Lawrence said, in a 
measured, deep voice, full of feeling. “ I can 
scarcely believe that my hope of years is at last 
realized.” 

“ I fear I’m keeping you standing; won’t you be 
seated ?’' Winona interrupted with her usual tact. 

“Your same old self,” Lawrence remarked with a 
smile. “ I happened,” he added, “to meet agentle- 
man from Nashville, Tennessee, out west, a few 
weeks since. He told me all about you ; that he 
heard you had gone north, but he did not know 
just where. I determined to come back and find 
you. You were the cause of my going west: I was 
so restless after meeting you. My life there has 
been a great financial success, but I feel an utter 


WINONA. 


197 


failure in many other ways, being without the one 
woman I have ever loved. But how came you here 
— it is all so strange ! ” 

Winona’s face lost its color, as the past was 
brought so vividly before her. It is a long story ; 
I’ll tell you all about it sometime,” she answered, 
with a tone of sadness. I shall have to ask you 
to excuse me now, as Mrs. Gerade will be wondering 
at my not coming; she and Mr. Gerade are enter- 
taining General and Mrs. Sherman at the opera this 
evening. Won’t you join us there ?” 

“ Thank you ; but my journey has been quite fa- 
tiguing, unfitting me for general conversation. 
However, if you will permit me the pleasure, I will 
drop in about the close of the evening and accom- 
pany you home.” 

Winona accepted his courtesy, and hurried away, 
reaching the opera just at the close of the first act. 
Mr. and Mrs. Gerade thought they had never seen 
Winona — their prot^g^e — look so beautiful as when 
she entered the box that evening; her eyes spark- 
ling and face lighted with a radiant, happy expres- 
sion. They introduced her with great pride to 
General and Mrs. Sherman. Winona’s entrance 
created quite a little stir among the occupants of 
other boxes, as she took her seat by the side of 
General Sherman. There was a decided uplifting of 
opera glasses and lorgnettes. Many knew she was 
a Southerner. Winona had a peculiar sensation to 
creep over her. She had not forgotten what she 


igB 


WINONA, 


and her people had suffered, nor did she forget she 
was a lady; she never did, always preserving the 
proverbial reputation of Southern women for sweet- 
ness of disposition, modesty, and dignity of manner. 

It is indeed, a brilliant occasion,*' remarked 
Winona, taking in the panorama of faces, elegant 
toilettes, glittering jewels, and gorgeous flowers 
about her. 

“Yes;" replied the general, “it affords a good 
opportunity for a display of the beautiful ; but I 
have been amused, as well as interested, at some of 
the people here this evening. They evidently came 
alone for show. They kept up a steady conversa- 
tion all during the music, and I dare say, couldn't 
tell the name of the opera being sung, were they 
asked, much more to be able to give an intelligent 
conception of it. They applaud vociferously, just 
because some one else does." 

“That is quite true," answered Winona, “I've 
often noticed it. The genuine appreciation comes 
mostly from the galleries, where the people pay one 
dollar and a half for their seats and work hard for 
the money. I don't understand how any one with 
a soul can fail to have it stirred by a grand opera 
when well sung. I make no distinction as to com- 
posers, though I'm somewhat partial to the Italian. 
Their productions contain such pleasing melodies, 
lighter, but to me, sweeter than the grand, heavy 
orchestration of the German. Yet I see in both in- 
trinsic value." 


mNON’A, 


199 


Here the curtain rose and their attention was di- 
rected to the stage. At the close of the second act, 
Winona slipped Lawrence De Movil’s telegram into 
Mr. Gerade’s hand. “ He came just after you left,” 
she said ; “ he is at home now. We are old friends, 
and our meeting was quite a surprise to both. He 
will drop in later and see me home.” 

‘‘Ah, a pleasant surprise all around,” added Mrs. 
Gerade ; “ I’m glad you know him, Winona; he is a 
grand man.” 

“ Your accent reminds me of the South,” abruptly 
remarked General Sherman, turning again to 
Winona. 

“You have guessed correctly, general; Fm proud 
to own that as my birthland.” 

“ From what part,” he replied with a bit of inter- 
est, a scrutinizing expression in his eyes. 

“I’m what they call, a “Georgia Cracker,” she 
said, smiling ; “ from Atlanta, Georgia, though part 
of my early childhood was passed near Decatur, 
Georgia, at the place where was fought the battle of 
Peachtree Creek.” 

“ I remember it,” said General Sherman, after a 
moment’s thought, still regarding Winona with in- 
terest. “ I had my headquarters there.” 

“ Yes ; I was but a little child, but I remember it 
too,” Winona went on with an agreeable manner. 
“ It was my aunt’s house, and I was living with her 
at the time.” Then came a short, awkward pause. 
It was Winona who relieved the embarrassment by 


200 


WINONA, 


saying : This silver bangle attached to my brace- 

let is the gift of General McPherson; we all respect 
his memory ; he must have been a noble man. I 
remember he took me on his knee and kissed me ; 
then I sang for him and he gave me this silver 
quarter, which I have kept so carefully.’' 

I hear the South has made great progress of late,” 
causally remarked the general. 

“Yes, we are in the beginning of a new era. 
With the phoenix power to rise, our brave people 
have a grand future before them.” 

“ How do you like the north and its people,” 
questioned the general. 

“ I like the crisp, cold atmosphere of its climate,” 
replied Winona ; “ it brings such a glow to one’s 
cheek and makes them so energetic ; yet a breath of 
our balmy south-winds would be a most agreeable 
change some of these bleak days. Individually, 
I find the northern people very charming. I would 
be very ungrateful did I not love many of them, 
they having given me such a cordial reception ; but, 
collectively, I do not think them as warm-natured 
and hospitable as the southerners. Your manners 
here, are more conservative and conventional than 
ours. Then, our men, as a class, are more chiv- 
alrous to woman than yours. You are surely a 
progressive and thrifty people. In short, my answer 
to your question is reduced to this: ‘not that I 
love Caesar less, but Rome more.’ ” 

Just here the orchestra broke forth, ending their 


IVmON'A, 


201 


conversation. Patti was singing in a glorious voice, 
her famous “ Bell Song.'' The staccato notes fell 
as clear and round upon the ear, as raindrops in a 
lily-cup. It was not altogether the song to which 
Winona listened with delight that made her heart 
beat faster — she knew Lawrence De Movil was near 
her without looking back to see ; she felt his pres- 
ence just as she did that night in Tennessee, when 
the darkies were singing. At the close of the 
opera, Winona stood bundled in her wraps, hud- 
dled in a corner of the door-way to screen herself 
from the keen winds, while waiting for the number 
of their carriage to be called. Lawrence stood 
close to her, but neither spoke. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gerade, with General and Mrs. 
Sherman had driven ahead. 

‘‘ Mrs. Manning is a charming woman," said 
General Sherman to Mrs. Gerade, as they drove 
home. Beautiful, intelligent, and loyal to her 
people and convictions in a very womanly way. I 
had rather expected her to hint, delicately, that 
there was a fire in the next world about as hot as the 
one I kindled in Atlanta," he added, with a little 
laugh. 

'‘Oh, no; replied Mrs. Gerade; that isn't Wi- 
nona’s style. She has lived with me for over two 
years now, and has never once suggested the sub- 
ject of politics or sectional differences. If her 
opinion is asked, she gives it honestly, loyally, but 
never in a disagreeable way; or, on the contrary. 


202 


tVmOATA, 


in a patronizing manner. She loves and admires 
people for what they really are, from a moral and 
intellectual standpoint, not from a political. There 
is nothing narrow in her mind or heart.’’ 

When Winona and Lawrence reached home, they 
found Mr. and Mrs. Gerade waiting to give them 
a good-night. The older ones soon retired, leaving 
Winona and Lawrence alone. 

‘‘ I guess I had better go now, too,” said Winona, 
without making any movement in that direction, 
but still opening and shutting her fan in a toying 
way. 

“Won’t you play, just once for me before you 
go ? ” asked Lawrence, quietly. “ I remember so well 

how you played and sang at W . I could never 

forget it.” 

Winona went to the piano. As she played, the 
tears came into Lawrence De Movil’s eyes. No 
one had ever taught her to play with such feeling. 
There were moments when she seemed far above 
the world. She did not play by note ; she could 
give no reason for the ff'' the '‘rail or the //;” 
her soul ordered it so, and caused the great heart 
of the piano to sound out in sympathy with her own. 
Lawrence came and stood beside her. 

“ I really must go now,” she said, rising — “I’m 
afraid you’re tired ; you were so quiet as we came 
home.” 

"I could not talk, for, I was looking at you by 
the light of every street lamp we passed. I wanted 


pvmojvA. 


203 


to wait until we were quietly alone, Winona. Don’t 
reproach me with such a look for calling you 
“Winona.” I can’t be formal with you. We 
are not strangers to each other. No, from all time 
close souls we were, and recognized the relation- 
ship the first time we ever met, though you were 
strong and self-respectful and tried to crush the 
feeling. I saw your effort and loved you the more 
for your strength and purity. It is not necessary 
that we should have days of acquaintance and weeks 
of association to know one another ; tell me, sweet- 
heart, is it?” said Lawrence in a low, tender voice, 
while slipping his arm around Winona’s slender 
waist, and drawing her closer to him. Her whole 
being responded to his embrace. “ Tell me ! ” 
he whispered again, his lips touching her cheek, 
“tell me, Winona, for I love you with all the 
strength of my manhood ! I cannot live without 
you ! — God Himself, I believe, has directed this 
meeting.” 

As naturally as the ivy entwines its tendrils around 
the strong oak, Winona put her arms about Law- 
rence De Movil’s neck. She knew in her heart, 
that he was the one man she had ever truly loved. 
She spoke not a word, but her answer was given in 
her touch, so full of earnest feeling, causing Law- 
rence De Movil to tremble with emotion. 

The standing lamp seemed to burn a double 
flame of brightness over them in their joy. The 
pictures on the walls seemed to look down on them 


^04 


tVINONA, 


with a blessing while even the sombre bronze statue 
in a corner appeared to smile approvingly upon 
them. 

‘‘Do you believe in second marriages?*’ ques- 
tioned Winona of Mrs. Gerade the next morning, 
when they were alone. 

“ Why, certainly,” answered Mrs. Gerade, looking 
at Winona with a touch of suspicion. Mr. Gerade 
and Lawrence had a cigar together just after break- 
fast, and she had overheard part of their conver- 
sation. “You see, Winona, there are many people 
whose circle of acquaintance is very limited ; their 
environment itself is narrow. If they marry at all, it 
must be in that narrow circle, for of course, people 
must meet to marry. They often select under such 
circumstances, not the one who is thoroughly con- 
genial or the one whom they feel in all the world is 
necessary to their happiness — there is a bit of doubt 
in their minds ; but the best that is procurable out of 
their limited circle. Take yourself, for example: 
When you married you were young, both in age 
and experience. Your circle of aquaintance was 
very limited and your judgment not so clear as 
now. Should you marry again, your union will be 
on a more substantial, satisfactory basis.” 

Winona’s ideas agreed thoroughly with those of 
Mrs. Gerade, though she made only a casual reply, 
glad at the thought of the harmony between them. 
Mr. and Mrs. Gerade were greatly delighted as 
well as surprised, at the sudden aspect affairs had 


WIATONA. 


205 


taken in their household. They loved Winona al- 
ready, but the thought of her becoming related to 
them, made them doubly happy. Then, Lawrence 
was their favorite nephew. The engagement be- 
tween Lawrence and Winona was immediately an- 
nounced, and their wedding planned for an early 
day — just after Easter, when they would go abroad 
for the summer. Jean was to be one of the brides- 
maids, and Mr. Le Blanc one of the groomsmen at 
the wedding. Mr. Le Blanc had made rapid prog- 
ress in his profession and was fast becoming well 
known and highly respected. No one took more 
interest in assisting Winona with her trousseau than 
did Mrs. Pearce. Miss Mays would not participate 
in any way, for her engagement to Mr. Le Blanc 
had been broken, and she had hidden herself away 
in humiliation in another part of the city, just 
where, none of them knew. 

It was two weeks before Winona’s wedding day. 
She was busy with preparations and thoroughly hap- 
py in her love, when a little brass-buttoned messenger 
handed her a telegram. Winona smiled as she tore 
it open, supposing it to be from Lawrence, saying 
what hour he would be down that evening, as he had 
been visiting friends at West Point for a few days. 
As she read the message with eager eyes, her hands 
trembled, and she turned deadly pale. It said : 
''Old Jake has appeared with a child; you are 
needed ; let nothing detain you : come immediately. 
Aunt Sallie.” 


2o6 


WINONA. 


Thrusting the telegram into the fire, she hastened 
to Mrs. Gerade saying: “My dear, my aunt has 
telegraphed for me to come immediately, and to let 
nothing detain me. I shall go by this afternoon’s 
train, for some of them may be desperately ill. My 
going must be of much importance, or she would 
not have telegraphed. I’ll write and explain to 
Lawrence.” 

“ But some one must go with you ; I do not like 
to have you travel so far alone when under such 
anxiety,” said Mrs. Gerade. 

“Oh, no, thank you,” replied Winona, “ I really 
don’t mind; I beg of you to let me go alone. I do 
not want to trouble any one, and I promise to come 
back soon.” 

That afternoon found Winona southward bound. 
As the train rushed along, she thought many times 
of “the chase of the trees.” She became very 
downcast in spirit. “ What will the issue of it all be ? 
Is it that happiness is once more to turn away from 
me with a mocking laugh? Have I been wrong to 
hope for so much? Is it that God intends we shall 
dream in our slumbers of beauty, happiness, and 
then waken us to the realization that life is 
duty, usefulness ? Can there be no combination of 
the two ? ” These were some of her thoughts, as 
she sat looking out of the car window at the passing 
landscape. 

She found Aunt Sallie in a distressed condition 
over the existing affairs, fearing there would yet be 


wmoNA, 


207 


great scandal and gossip over Dan’s dead body 
bringing a blot on that family name, whose honor 
had stood the test of years. 

Let us try and make a compromise in some way 
with old Jake,” said George Hardeman, who had 
also come to assist in the matter. 

“ No,” said Winona ; I do not think it best. He 
might appear again at any time to renew the 
trouble. It must be settled now and forever. IVe 
told you Teresa’s story, and I believe we can man- 
age without publicity. The Judge who is on the 
bench this week is an old true friend of grandpa’s. I 
think it will be alone necessary to take him into our 
confidence. I feel sure he will not betray it. Sup- 
pose we arrange with him to have old Jake, and the 
young man he claims is Teresa’s child, to meet with 
us in the Court Room at Decatur, just after to- 
morrow morning’s session. We will have him ask 
old Jake’s statement informally, then I shall give 
mine. I believe that will end the matter without a 
public prosecution. If Mr. Simpkins were only 
alive his testimony of having written to Teresa 
would be most valuable, but, as it is, we can only 
defend ourselves by Teresa’s statement.” 

Accordingly, the next day, the Judge, Winona 
sitting at his side on the stand, with the little group 
Aunt Sallie, George Hardeman, old Jake and a 
young man with a peculiar vacant expression and 
thin tight lips, before him, proceeded to investigate 
the claims put forth by old Jake. 


208 


WINONA, 


I would like you, Mrs. Manning,” said the 
judge, ‘‘to question this man if you please, while I 
listen.” 

Winona rose upon the stand like a very Portia in 
her dignity. “ You say,” she commenced slowly, 
“ that you have been living for years with your 
daughter Teresa Hardeman?’' 

“Yes,” answered old Jake. 

“ Will you swear that this young man here is her 
child ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That she left directions, with her dying breath, 
for you to claim Dan Hardeman’s property for 
him?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, I have testimony to the contrary,” Wino- 
na went on in the same calm way. “ I have lived 
with Teresa Hardeman also. She told her story 
to me of how she lived in the slums of New Yorlc 
City when you first brought her to this country; of 
how you traveled here and there with her, settling 
at last near this town. She believed she was a 
stolen child, nor recognized you as her father. She 
told me of her marriage with my brother Dan 
Hardeman; of how she escaped you during the war: 
that she never saw Brother Dan after their first part- 
ing, but went and made for herself a place in the 
world, unaided by any one. She did not even know 
what had become of you. She is now dead but left 
no children.*’ 


WINONA, 


209 


Old Jake’s mummy-like face wore a strange 
expression as Winona spoke. He stood motionless 
for a moment after she had finished, then said 
snarlingly : I shall Hold to what I’ve said and 

demand the property. It will be my word and this 
young man’s against yours.” Winona felt her heart 
sink. ‘ Could there be a loop hole through which 
the alleged son could plead his own cause, indepen- 
dent of old Jake’s assistance, but at his instructions 
If that were so, then even though she did prove in 
the end old Jake a liar, in regard to Teresa, she would 
have no proof, save that of Teresa’s dead word, 
which was weak against the shrewd living, that the 
young man was not really her son.’ These thoughts 
rushed in quick succession through her brain. She 
felt the importance of the moment. 

‘‘ Let the young man give his statement,” said 
Winona, showing no confusion. Old Jake gave 
him a quick motion, at which he rose and began 
spelling rapidly on his fingers. 

Stop ! ” said Winona, suddenly, her face bright- 
ening. Old Jake gave him another signal, causing 
him to cease. I do not understand that language.” 

‘‘Then, I will interpret it for you,” replied old 
Jake. “ He is deaf and dumb, and as my word 
seems not to be worth anything with you, perhaps, 
he had better write his testimony.” 

“ It would be of no value given in either way,” 
said Winona, decidedly, “for this contract distinctly 
says: “should Dan Hardeman and his wife die, 


210 


WINONA. 


leaving children, through no other medium save that 
of the swearing tongue of one of them in person, at 
the Court Room, to their identity as their child, and 
answering sufficient questions to prove that assertion 
true, shall the property be theirs.’ That young man 
cannot swear, either through the meditan of his 
fingers or his pen — it must be with his tongue ! ” 
Winona stood erect, her cheeks glowing, eyes bril- 
liant and thin nostrils dilated. 

Old Jake sat dazed ; his mouth half open, as if 
some one had struck him a heavy blow. The others 
held their breath with interest. ‘‘ Then I have 
here,” Winona went on, holding up a slip of paper 
to view, “ Teresa Hardeman’s burial certificate from 
the hospital where she died, which is proof condemn- 
ing the story you have told. Also according to the 
contract causing you to forfeit the money paid you 
in the beginning for telling to this young man, the 
secret of my brother’s marriage, and placing him too, 
at the mercy of the law. Judge, you have heard the 
evidence on both sides of this question : I leave it to 
you to say what you think will be the result, should 
it be further agitated.” 

It is a most remarkable case ! ” replied the judge 
with an impressive manner. I have never heard 
of a similar one. I am sure, sir,” he said, address- 
ing old Jake, “that being smart enough to scheme 
as you have, you will readily see that every word you 
say will add an extra year to your life in the pen- 
itentiary. Both you and this young man with you, 


mNONA. 


21 1 


whom you have suborned, are now at the mercy of 
these good people. It is for them to say what fur- 
ther shall be done.'* 

Old Jake fell in a trembling heap upon the floor, 
clasping his hands towards Winona imploringly. 
George Hardeman rushed at him as if to strangle 
his life. 

Stop ! don’t touch him ! ” said Winona ; he is 
a worm in the dust ; let him crawl there. 
Remember the Hardeman name — may it never 
know the stain of blood ! ” 

George Hardeman stepped back, recognizing the 
superior judgment of Winona’s cool reasoning. 
Aunt Sallie uttered not a word, leaving it all to 
Winona, in whom she had so much confidence. 

“Get up,” said Winona, addressing old Jake; 
“ take this young man with you — go ! spend the rest 
of your days on your knees, asking forgiveness for 
your sins, and teach him also to pray, as you have 
taught him to lie ! ” 

At that, old Jake motioned to his colleague, who 
sat frightened and bewildered, knowing, by old 
Jake’s manner, they had failed in their plan. The 
two together hurried out without a word, and dis- 
appeared, leaving no fear with Winona of their ever 
returning. The clock in the Court-house steeple 
tolled out the hour, reminding her of the yawn of a 
snoozing animal that half wakes but to close its 
eyes again, as she looked over the quiet, sleepy town, 
all unconscious of the important happenings, just 


212 


WINONA. 


ended in its hall of justice. A few wagons and bug- 
gies stood before the small grocery stores. Here 
and there a group of men, who had come from the 
country to attend court, stood about in the court- 
yard talking on business. Several of them sat with 
their chairs tilted on hind legs, around the court- 
house door, smoking, chewing, or whittling a stick 
with a pocket knife, while laughing and telling 
jokes. They hushed suddenly, as Winona and the 
others came out, conjecturing and wondering among 
themselves after she had disappeared in the distance, 
as to ‘ what was up.' Her appearance furnished 
material for that day's talk alone, as she was not 
seen again, having returned immediately to the 
north with a light heart, and promising Aunt Sallie 
to bring her ‘‘ Yankee husband ” to see them all on 
her return from Europe in the fall. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


In all the glory of the Indian summer of her life’s 
experience, Winona once more stood a bride. How 
queenly she looked ! How happy she was ! Law- 
rence at her side with his splendid physique and 
noble features, felt his heart leap with joy and 
pride. 

“ What a grand couple,” said Mr. and Mrs. 
Gerade. “ Both attractive and imposing in appear- 
ance, brilliant in mind, and thoroughly congenial at 
heart. They married for love alone, founded on 
good judgment. Would that the world could have 
more such unions ! 

The rolling waves hugged the steamer passion- 
ately as Lawrence and Winona, with the circling 
sea-gulls about, sailed out to sea, into its mists — 
out of sight of land. That summer abroad to them 
was one of perfect enjoyment. Exultant in their 
love, with receptive and appreciative minds for the 
interesting and beautiful, they felt they were really 
living, and before had only existed. On their re- 
turn to America in the fall, Lawrence said one 
morning : Come, Winona, let’s go up to West 
Point to-day. I hear the boys are to have a tilt, 


214 


IVINONA. 


and I want to see how my filly behaves herself. 
You know she came while you were South last 
spring, and I sent her up to one of my old friends at 
the Point to use until we came home from abroad. 
I want to bring her down to the city soon for you 
to ride ; she has a splendid gait.” 

Winona and Lawrence, with many other pretty 
and fashionably-dressed women, and handsome offi- 
cers in their attractive military uniforms, sat looking 
over the plane, where pranced the horses bearing 
the cadets who were to participate in the tourna- 
ment. 

“There she is just coming on ! ” said Lawrence, 
suddenly, as the bugle sounded. 

Winona saw a dark, sleek horse, with slender 
limbs and high arched neck, bearing a cadet, who 
sat the saddle gracefully and rode a I’Anglaise. 

“ I’ll wager Mett will cause her rider to make the 
best score, for she is well trained. Isn’t she a 
beauty!” remarked Lawrence, enthusiastically. 

What an old-time ring that name had in it for 
Winona. “ How did you happen to name her 
Mett,” she questioned. 

“Why, that was her mother’s name. It’s quite a 
story. A near relative of mine. Dr. Shippen, who 
was in the Federal army, made her a present to me. 
The mother, he said, was taken from a little 
Southern girl who was a patient of his during the 
war. He had heard her beg so piteously for her 
pet. Some days after leaving her his horse was 


tVINONA, 


215 


shot, and the mother of my mare given him in 
place. Some time after, he wrote to the aunt of 
the child with whom she lived, telling her the horse 
was in his possession and at her disposal. Twice he 
wrote, but there came no answer — ” 

“ The letters were never received ; there was 
such confusion those days,” interrupted Winona, 
with a little tone of sadness as her thoughts flew 
backward. 

‘‘ Why, what do you mean, Winona ? You look 
as if you had some personal interest in the matter,” 
I have. I was Dr. Shippen’s little Southern 
girl patient, and Mett was my pet horse.” 

Lawrence gazed in surprise at Winona, saying : 

‘‘ Isn’t it all so strange and romantic ! It does, 
indeed, seem that God intended us for each other 
from the beginning. Our lives have been so inter- 
linked.” 

“ Dr. Shippen has had much to do with my life, 
though I have never seen him since that time when I 
lay ill with the fever. Indeed, I owe my existence 
to-day to him. I would have died had it not been 
for his medicine and instructions. Had not it been 
for his tenderness and Gen. McPherson’s kindness, 
I might not have loved you so well,” said Winona, 
with a smile, and teasing tone in her voice. 

Whenever I felt a touch of bitterness when think- 
ing of brother Dan’s death,” she went on more 
seriously, I always pacified it by thinking of those 
two good men.” 


2i6 


WINONA. 


How happy I am that I am to be the one to re- 
store your pet to you/’ said Lawrence, in a low, 
tender voice, while gently pressing her hand. 

Mett’s rider did, indeed, make the best score, 
coming out at the last round amid shouts of ap- 
plause, fluttering of handkerchiefs, waving of para- 
sols, and clapping of daintily-gloved hands. When 
the tilt was over, Winona went to Mett, and stood 
stroking and patting her silken mane. The horse 
looked at her knowingly from great liquid eyes, and 
put out her nose caressingly towards Winona, who 
had the same magnetic influence over animals she 
possessed with people. 

“You are in truth, the image of my own, old 
pet ! ” she said, resting her cheek affectionately 
against Mett’s neck, and looking far away up the 
blue Hudson, as if listening to something in the dis- 
tance, saying to herself : “ I can hear Mr. Simpkins 
say — ‘ come, Winona, let’s go t’ mill now, fur they 
mought stop grindin’ soon.” The banks of the 
river before her loomed up in all their grandeur. A 
tiny white sail appeared in the bend, reminding her 
of a white feather dropped from an angel’s wing 
being wafted down the blue heavens. “ No mat- 
ter how happy one’s present is,” she thought, 
“ their dead past always brings a touch of sad- 
ness.” 

On their return to the city, Winona and Lawrence 
found a letter from Jean, saying, — “ Mr. Le Blanc 
and I are to be married soon. We want you to 


WINOATA, 2iy 

come to the wedding. He will call and tell you all 
about it.” 

‘‘ Ah, I believed that would be the ending,” said 
Winona, happy at the thought. “IVe guessed it 
from her letters. How nice it will be to have her 
live here where we can see her often. It is so 
strengthening to be associated with such a woman.” 

After attending Jean and Mr. Le Blanc’s wed- 
ding, Winona and Lawrence went to pay Aunt 
Sallie the promised visit. It was such a sweet, 
peaceful rest to them after the rush and whirl of 
gay city life. Grandma hobbled about, shading her 
dimmed eyes with her hand to see what was going 
on, or sat quietly knitting by the fireside, asking 
childish questions like most old people. ‘ She 
liked Lawrence a great deal better than she thought 
she would;’ he always humored her by talking of 
the war — her pet subject of conversation. Poor, 
dear, old soul,” he said, in speaking of her to Wi- 
nona. ‘‘You can see how much she lives in the 
past, ‘ before the war,’ as she says — the sunny side 
of her life.” 

“ Hiah am Banni, come t’ see ye,” said Cindy, 
now, old and gray-headed, still faithful to her 
“ missus,” coming in one day, preceding a stout col- 
ored woman. 

“ Is dis my little ’ Noni,” said the latter, turning 
her head wrapped with a red bandanna, quizzically 
to one side. “ Lorddy mussy . on my soul, ef it 
ain’t ! ” she said, falling on her knees before Winona, 


2I8 


WINONA. 


and catching her in her arms, the tears rolling down 
her black cheeks. ‘‘Yer nebber hab furgotme nary 
Christmas yit, since yer ben gone. Yer dunno how 
I does lub you, Miss Noni. Yer mus’ lemme call 
yer Miss Noni,’' lak I aster. I kaint nebber 
member all dese hifalutin names.” Winona held 
her black hand in hers and choked back the tears 
as she said : “ We had great times when we were 
little, didn’t we Banni — popping corn over the hot 
coals and telling fairy stories. It has been a long 
time since then, but we love each other still, and 
always will ! ” 

Lawrence stood by looking on the scene with a 
surprised interest. He had never witnessed such an 
one before, and was peculiarly touched. How I 
wish,” he said to himself, ‘‘ that many of my people 
could see this, as I do.” 

Before their return north, Winona and Lawrence 
stopped a few weeks in Atlanta to see the old 
friends of her school days there. 

“ Who is that genial looking man to whom you 
spoke then,’' questioned Lawrence, as they stood in 
the arcade of the Kimball House, looking at the 
crowds of people, who had come to welcome Presi- 
dent and Mrs. Cleveland to the city. 

“ That was Henry W. Grady. I was introduced 
and had a pleasant interview with him, while you 
were away this morning. To me, he is the Star of 
Bethlehem that has risen in our southern sky to lead 
wise men to the right understanding of those vital 


WINONA. 219 

questions so necessary to the prosperity, not only 
of our south-land, but this entire great republic.*' 

That afternoon an invation came for ‘‘ Mr. and 
Mrs. Lawrence De Movil ’* with Mr. Grady's card 
enclosed, inviting them to the reception to be given 
that evening in honor of President and Mrs. Cleve- 
land at the Capital City Club. They decided to ac- 
cept. 

“ Drive us," said Lawrence to the coachman, to 
the Capital City Club." A short ride brought them 
to a halt before a large building brilliantly illumin- 
ated. 

What house is that, with its white columns," 
said Winona, addressing the footman, as she stepped 
out of the carriage and gave a glance around by the 
moonlight. 

“The Leyden House," madame, he answered. 

“ Why, Lawrence, this club house stands on the 
very spot where was the house in which I was born ! 
It was my dear grandpa’s home; he died here. 
How full is my life of coincidences ! You know 
General Thomas had his headquarters there in the 
Leyden House, during the w^ar, and my grandpa’s 
house here was used for private rooms and printing 
offices of the federal generals, at the time Atlanta 
was destroyed. I have often heard grandpa talk 
about it. What a splendid city has been built here 
since that time ! " 

“ Who is that gaudily dressed woman, with 
rouged cheeks, blackened eyebrows, blondined 


220 


WINONA. 


hair, and a great spot of black court-plaster on her 
face questioned a lady of her companion, while 
standing near Winona that evening. 

Why, that is Laura Wilkins — shoddy — used to 
have money — spends all she has now on dress for 
show — so vain — listen how loudly she talk — likes to 
make herself conspicuous ; she's stage-struck ; affects 
the actress — gossiping is her forte — takes with the 
men ; but, none seem to care for her for a wife — dy- 
ing to get married ; when she does, she won't need 
the assistance of a father or brother to give her away. 
Dare say she'll walk up the aisle alone with head 
erect, looking as if ready to shout palms of victory, 
‘ I have won ! ' Pity her husband. I guess he'll be a 
simpleton, or coarse natured " — were some of the 
severe criticisms Winona, heard whispered from be- 
hind a gauze fan. A little later, Laura Wilkins 
came up to Winona, saying in a most patronizing 
way: ‘‘Why, Winona Hardeman, — Mrs. De Movil 
as I now hear you are ; how delighted I am to see 
you! How well you are looking! What a swell 
looking fellow you have for a husband ; he's a regu- 
lar daisy — wouldn't mind making a mash like that 
myself." 

“Poor thing!" said Winona to herself, when 
Laura had finished her slangy chatter and turned 
away. “ How she stabbed my little heart a long 
time ago by laughing at my copper toed shoes, and 
how I wondered why it was her money made her so 
much better than I ; why I was slighted at her 


WINONA. 


221 


party, and I have not comprehended many of the 
‘‘ whys '' and wherefores ” of the ways of the world 
yet! Women like Laura Wilkins always make me 
sad. They spend their lives struggling, — fawning 
on society and die — forgotten ! 

As the many elegantly dressed people promenaded 
under the brilliant lights, chatting to the accompa- 
niment of the orchestra, admiring the elaborate dec- 
orations, and paying their respects to President 
Cleveland and his beautiful wife, Winona stood 
apart in an unobserved corner fora little while. 

‘‘ Why are you so quiet, my sweet one,” said her 
husband, looking affectionately into her face. 

‘‘ I was only closing my eyes to this festive scene 
for a moment, and looking backward. Just about 
here was the old parlor — I can see its black hair 
furniture now ; the tall china vases on the mantel 
with stiff bunches of flowers painted on them ; the 
pictures of Generals Lee and Jackson in there con- 
federate uniforms hanging on the whitewashed 
walls, and dear grandpa sitting there, toddling me 
on his knee.” 

When their visit was ended, Winona and Lawrence 
turned again their faces northward. 

‘‘And now, that we are nearing home, to take up 
life in earnest together, “ said Winona, as they rode 
along,” I pray earnestly, my dear husband, that our 
union may be a grand success to the end ! That 
you will live well your part, I know. I shall try so 
hard to be to you all that a good and loving wife 


222 


WINONA. 


can. We are both full of vigor, happy, wealthy — 
we ought to be of great value to the world under 
such favorable circumstances. For my part, after 
complying with the demands of my own home, I 
shall give my time, strength and money to the 
cause of woman. I show no partiality, for, by up- 
lifting her, man cannot fail to be elevated. I hope 
some day to establish a school where talented 
women are about me ; women who are trying to help 
themselves, can have every advantage of art and 
science, and higher education gratuitously. Then, I 
shall aid in every way I can in founding and sup- 
porting libraries with healthy reading matter. Bad 
books are one of the great evils of this modern 
time. They have such power to disease one’s mind. 
(Show me the style of books one reads, and I can 
almost tell you the character of that one without 
knowing him personally.) Were I a man, my vote 
would surely be cast to abolish their publication. 
Men who sell them, deal in death just as much as 
does the fat saloon keeper. How I wish for the 
gift of a mighty pen ! How with the power of bril- 
liant word-painting would I dip it in the blackest 
ink, and write with a bold hand, books that would 
survive the century ! ” 

They had arrived at Jersey City, and stood on 
the wharf waiting for the ferry to take them over 
the river to New York. It was night. Lawrence 
De Movil tenderly pressed Winona’s hand. ''What 
a grand woman you are, my queen! he said — "You 


WINONA. 223 

lift me up until I feel tenfold stronger in my better 
purposes ! ” 

The ferry bearing them over, moved off. Its 
light was soon lost amid the many others that 
shone through the thick fog of the river. 

^ * * * * * 

A few years later, finds Lawrence DeMovil the 
honored Minister Plenipotentiary to one of the most 
important foreign countries. His wife is the pride 
and joy of the Legation, and there is no lady at 
Court, those who wear the crown jewels” not 
excepted, upon whom is bestowed more deference 
and love, than Winona. 


THE END. 






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